Trey In Mournhold, Chapter 2 Options

[treydog]

Chapter 2

So far, my sojourn in Mournhold had resulted in a beating from a Wood Elf, nearly being eaten by goblins (and their pets), and the acquisition and subsequent loss of 1000 drakes. And I was no closer to finding the Dark Brotherhood or the reason they had been hired to kill me. The prices at the Winged Guar (and the payment I had received for one day’s work) showed me that Mournhold was an expensive place. If I was going to continue this search, particularly if I didn’t begin to see some results, I was going to have to come up with some cash. That problem I could solve, at least temporarily. Although the sight of all the ornate buildings and richly dressed citizens made my palms itch, I restrained my larcenous impulses. It is unwise in the extreme to ply the burglar’s trade in an unknown city- the risks usually outweigh the rewards. Although Helseth’s palace guards seemed to be restricted to the royal quarter, the same could not be said of the High Ordinators, silver armored busybodies who seemed to be everywhere, doing what Ordinators did best, issuing threats and watching everything too closely to allow an honest thief a sporting chance. But if a little creative redistribution of wealth was out of the question, I still knew where a few weapons and shields could be picked up. More important, I knew that the former owners wouldn’t make any objections. Despite their dietary habits, or perhaps because of them, goblins tended to make high-quality arms and armor. And given the fact that the only way for a non-goblin to obtain such was to kill goblins, those bits of merchandise should be fairly rare in Mournhold.

The Craftsmen’s Hall had been pointed out to me as the best place to purchase quality armor, so I gathered up a couple of goblin shields and a club and made my way there. The first fellow I encountered was an arrogant Imperial (is there any other kind?) who made a great show of being terribly busy and put-upon. It was obvious that the fellow was just waiting for an audience upon whom to unburden himself. A peculiar, some might even say perverse, aspect of my nature is that I tend to ignore overly dramatic, self-absorbed fools who attempt to draw attention to themselves. Beyond his theatrical manner, one look at this fellow’s smooth hands and spindly arms told me that he was not the smith. Therefore, I pressed on, following the smell of heated metal and the sound of hammers ringing on anvils. When I spotted a muscular Dunmer and a sweating Orc assistant, I knew I had found Bols Indalen, master armorer. The smith laid aside the tower shield he had been bringing to a mirror finish and asked if I had come for a set of custom armor. He further explained that he could work with glass, ebony, or his specialty, adamantium. Besides being measured for the armor, the customer was expected to provide the raw materials and a substantial payment. While I found it quite interesting that Master Indalen would speak so casually about trading in restricted materials, I knew I did not have the money to pay for such fine armor. Therefore, I raised a hand and explained,

“Actually, I am selling rather than buying.”

His red Dunmeri eyes widened slightly when I revealed the items I had to offer. He clearly recognized their goblin origin, but he did not speak of it as he carefully examined each piece. Finally, he gave a satisfied grunt and said,

“I don’t know how you came by these, and I don’t want to. However, if you are hunting goblins, you really should consider purchasing some of my custom armor. In any event, I will give you 2000 septims for the lot. And if you ‘find’ any more, please give me the first chance at it.”

That was a reasonable price, so I accepted without any haggling. Now that my visit to Mournhold seemed profitable again, I tried to think of a way that I could convert some coins into information. Master Indalen did not seem a likely source regarding the Dark Brotherhood, but he did reveal that adamantium ore could be found beneath the city. For obvious reasons no one was willing to say exactly where the deposits were located, but lost workings were known to be somewhere in or under Old Mournhold. If it came down to it, I might consider mining as a way to make money to finance my search, but I had no real desire to go grubbing about underground if I could help it. I wasn’t averse to manual labor, particularly not when it paid so well, but dangerous creatures and even more dangerous people had a tendency to lurk in dark places deep under the earth. With that thought, a feeble spark of an idea reached the dry tinder of imagination, and an idea burst into flame. With a distracted “thank you,” I turned away from Master Indalen and nurtured that thought. The Dark Brotherhood was a band of killers, not respectable businessmen. They didn’t have “two-for-one specials” or hang out signs advertising their headquarters. And given the nature of their “work,” they weren’t going to be found in the better part of town. No, they would be hidden somewhere away from prying eyes, somewhere hard to reach, somewhere that “decent” folk did not go; a place like the sewers and the ruins of Old Mournhold.

[treydog]

Narisa Adus professed no knowledge of the Dark Brotherhood, stating rather tartly that one murderous gang was more than enough for her to contend with, thanks just the same. Leaving her with a promise that I would attempt to communicate with the ghost of Variner if I saw it, I completed my exploration of that section of the world beneath Mournhold. It was important to know the location of every exit, lest I be trapped down there. Already, I had encountered goblins and undead- apparently predators in human guise also roamed these dank corridors. My searching yielded four exits- two each leading to the Manor District and the Palace. I carefully considered which way I should take. Narisa had said she and Variner were beneath the Temple when they were attacked, but she had been fearful of an entrance that was marked as leading to the Manor District. Though it still rankled, I had to accept her warning regarding the Black Dart Gang- getting killed was no part of my plans. That effectively barred one exit. And if the Black Dart Gang laired in the Manor District, either entrance to that area could lead me into trouble. Although the chance of finding valuable treasures was greater there, the chance of encountering formidable adversaries was also higher. The Palace stood in the center of the city- therefore the tunnels beneath it would also be centrally located. Learning the “lay of the land” under the Palace could be the difference between life and death. Then, too, it would be interesting to see what sorts of things the occupants of the Palace chose to hide under the ground.

Since I desired concealment, I selected an entry to the Palace sewers that lay underwater. A crudely made door at the end of the flooded tunnel bore hasty inscriptions that indicated the Palace cellars lay on the far side. After a momentary struggle against the pressure of the water, I forced the door open and swam through. The unfinished walls of this passage, still bearing the marks of pick and shovel, indicated that this was someone’s bolt hole- a hidden way of entering or exiting the Palace. Before long, I came out of the water and back into corridors of elaborately fitted stone. Even here, there was evidence of long neglect and decay. The barking of a goblin sounded over the incessant splash of water, so I pressed myself into a shadowy corner and invoked my detection charm and conjured bow. Even without the spell, I could tell that the noisy goblin was approaching my position, so I simply waited, with an arrow on the string. It felt rather pleasant to be the hunter for a change, but I did not let that feeling diminish my alertness. The goblin rounded a bend and I dropped him with two well-placed shots. As he splashed into the water, I thought about the sound of his barking. It was different from the hunting calls I had heard under Godsreach- it almost seemed to have a questioning, searching tone….

A quick glance at the deceased goblin’s equipment confirmed that he was part of the same band I had previously encountered. As I cautiously moved further into the passages, my spell indicated a cluster of hostile creatures to the west, up a ramp. I also thought that I detected a smell of durzog from the direction, so I turned south instead. Soon, I entered a large domed chamber, with fluted columns supporting the roof. Broad avenues exited to the south and west, and water cascaded in from above, flowing into a large catchment in the center of the room. The roar of the falling water covered the slight scuff of my footsteps on stone, and I was able to survey the room and mark the locations of a goblin, a skeleton guardian, and a couple of giant rats. I almost turned away, but stopped myself. I had to explore every part of these sewers, and I had the advantage of surprise. Although still not expert, my marksmanship had improved remarkably over the last months. Pleased with my foresight in conjuring a magical bow, I took out four arrows and wedged the points slightly into a space between two paving stones at my feet. Placing a fifth arrow on the bowstring, I took a deep breath and considered my targets. The goblin would be first- he was the closest and most dangerous; then the skeleton, which would have to circumnavigate the central pool to reach me; and the rats would be saved for last.

For once, my elaborate planning worked as intended and the creatures fell like targets at a market-day fair, their roars and screams muffled by the sound of falling water. As I moved forward to check the bodies and retrieve any usable arrows, I considered the problem of necromancy. The lesser undead, such as skeleton warriors and ancestor ghosts, were usually the creations or summonings of necromancers, intended to serve as guardians. Unfortunately, necromancers tended to suffer from either short attention spans, or more likely, short life spans. Then, when the wizard died or moved on to some other, more hospitable location, he forgot about his animated security systems and left them patrolling and attacking the occasional wandering thief who just happened to be passing through. Worse than that, most necromancers tended to go for quantity over quality, so their constructs usually only carried rusty swords and shields, meaning there was not much reward for the risk involved in exterminating them. But the goblins…what were goblins doing beneath the Palace? The clan markings had shown that these last two were part of the same group I had met previously. All evidence indicated that there was a major goblin presence in Mournhold, and I seemed to be the only one who knew or cared.

Since no answers to my questions presented themselves, I continued in a southerly direction, encountering another skeleton and finding a ladder that gave access to the Palace basement. That was a welcome sight, for I was very much in need of rest and a quiet place to consider what I had discovered. Mostly what I had found were mysteries without answers: goblins beneath the city; people with no good explanation for their purpose in the sewers; a deadly gang that dressed themselves as beggars. And I had found no sign of the Dark Brotherhood. With all those questions clamoring in my head, I decided to explore the Palace basement. It would at least be drier than the sewers, and perhaps more profitable. After cautiously peering through the trapdoor, I levered myself out into a storeroom lined with sacks and crates. A quick search showed that the basement was deserted, and had been for some time, if the layer of dust was any indication. That gave me leisure to look through all of the containers, which were a veritable trove of foodstuffs and alchemical ingredients. Better still, I found a small table and stools to serve as a handy alchemy workbench. Another useful find was the wine racks, complete with empty bottles that I could use to decant my creations. With perhaps more enthusiasm than sense, I lost myself in the creation of potions to replenish my dwindling stocks. No one interrupted my activities, and it was a pleasure to simply measure and mix. While I was immersed in that work, I did not have to think of all the problems that confronted me, and I could pretend for a time that I was just a simple apothecary, living a quiet life. Even after I had finished, I ignored the door that gave onto a set of steps leading to the reception area, deciding to stay in the basement for a time. Wedging a crate in front of the door to serve as an alarm, I stretched out on some grain sacks and was soon asleep. If any dreams came to me, I do not remember them; all I recall is that it was the first restful night I had passed in many weeks.