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]

My situation in Mournhold had just taken a serious turn for the worse. It was bad enough that the Dark Brotherhood sought to kill me- that goblins were in the sewers beneath the city, and now Fedris Hler wished to speak to me. Hler enjoyed the seemingly harmless position of Steward to the Goddess Almalexia, a title that hid the true extent of his power and influence. No one wished to say anything directly, but hints and rumors indicated that Hler was Almalexia’s “enforcer,” the person who took care of any unpleasant chores that the Tribunal goddess required. There were even whispers that he was a former assassin- a possibility that was truly frightening. After all, it was well known that assassins never retired…. Still, I had little choice but to obey; the arrival of his “invitation” showed that he already knew how to find me if he wished to do so.

Though I was not much in the mood to admire architecture, Almalexia’s Temple was an impressive structure, as inspiring in its own way as the city of Vivec in Vvardenfell. I suppose that was one of the attractions of being a god- people built you a nice architectural marvel in which to live. Numerous pilgrims and beggars thronged the Temple steps, but it seemed that only those with specific business were allowed inside. I showed the parchment summons to a door warden and was waved through without any questions being asked. An aged Dunmer woman paused in her dusting long enough to point out Fedris Hler, after cautioning me to not track in too much dirt. Following her directions brought me to a tall Dunmer in priest’s vestments, standing before the doors to the inner Temple. His appearance served only to reinforce the stories that I had heard. Despite his advanced age, he was still a strongly built elf, wearing glass armor as well as the simple robes of the Temple. A wicked scar marked the right side of his face, starting at the scalp and passing across a blinded eye to end near his chin. And if his appearance was disconcerting, his greeting was even more so. Before I had a chance to introduce myself, the Steward spoke,

“Ah, Adept Trey, it was good of you to respond so promptly to my summons. Young people are often caught up in their own doings, and fail to attend their elders. As I understand it, you have recently arrived from Vvardenfell, a rather interesting circumstance given the quarantine. Of course, I was informed of your arrival and hoped to have a chance to speak with you. I understand that you have had trouble with the Dark Brotherhood, as well. An interesting group, but they are usually more effective. I’m surprised that you are still alive. Perhaps you have potential, or perhaps they sent incompetents.”

My surprise at that remarkable speech combined with my desire for information and caused me to speak without thinking,

“Do you know much about the Dark Brotherhood, then?”

As the words left my mouth, a part of me stood back in horror and thought, “Why not ask a lion what he wants for breakfast while you are at it?

But Fedris Hler merely considered the question briefly, just as he might if I had asked his opinion of the weather, and responded,
“As I said, an interesting group. Fear and mystery are powerful tools for them. There have been kings that have been rumored to utilize their services, but that is only rumor, of course.” He gave a dry laugh and continued,

“Speaking of service, I believe it is possible that a young man of you talents might be of service to Our Lady. I am always aware of those who might be able to serve our Lady Almalexia. Few are worthy to do so. The Temple and the city are guarded by the High Ordinators, and the Hands fulfill other duties for the Lady. I am her Chief Steward. Now, if you wish to be of use, we have some matters to discuss.”

Since his invitation to be “of use” sounded more like an order then a request, I simply said,

“I live but to serve, my lord Steward.”

I thought that I had avoided any trace of irony or sarcasm, but he again treated me to that dry laugh and cautioned me,

“A sharp wit for such a young fellow! Take care that you do not cut yourself with it! Now, to business. Perhaps you have already met young King Hlaalu Helseth. A foul man, unworthy to sit on a throne. Still, he holds right of succession. The Lady must keep an ever-watchful eye on this King, though, lest he do something that would be detrimental to the Temple, our fair city, or perhaps all of Morrowind. Currently, there are concerns about some new recruits that Helseth seems to be training.”

I did not miss the order of precedence he used, placing the Temple ahead of all else, but said nothing. He continued,

“A standing army is nothing new in the city, though it is largely unnecessary. Mournhold is protected by her walls from the outside, and by our Lady Almalexia from within. None would dare mount an attack here. Still, tradition dictates that the king can maintain an army. We believe that Helseth is raising quite a different sort of army...a goblin army. Goblins are foul, vicious creatures. No wonder Helseth has chosen them to be his foot soldiers. I know that the goblins are being trained nearby, though not where, exactly. Ask around the city about goblins. Someone will know. I wish for you to find the location of the goblin training area. When you do, kill the warchiefs--there should be two. Sever the head of this army, and the rest will shatter like a scrib. Rumor has it that Helseth has contracted two Altmer to train his goblin army. If you find these Altmer, it would be a service to rid the city of them as well. Complete this task, and the Lady will be pleased.”

With that, he gave a short bow of dismissal and left me standing in the reception area. Although I had been concerned about the presence of the goblins, this introduced complications I had not anticipated. Fedris Hler knew entirely too much about me for my peace of mind. And the way he referred to the Dark Brotherhood as “interesting” sounded like the admiration of one professional for another. Perhaps worst of all, the goblins I had been shooting full of arrows were part of some project engendered by Helseth. The very last thing I desired was to come to the attention of the king- a man reputed to have a quick way with people who became “inconvenient.” On the other hand, if I succeeded, how would Helseth know that I was the one who thwarted his scheme? If the goblins and their trainers were gone, no one would be able to tell him what had happened. And if I failed, I wouldn’t be in a position to worry about Helseth’s reaction, anyway.

Much as I hated the idea of taking on this mission, I saw no choice but to give Fedris Hler what he wanted. I was not in a position to openly defy the Temple, especially not when I had yet to discover the hidden base of the Dark Brotherhood. If the Temple steward knew too much about me, he also seemed to know a great deal about the assassins who were stalking me. And whatever else he might be, Fedris Hler was a fighter. Though he bore terrible scars, the fact was that he was still around. Whoever had given him those wounds….wasn’t.