The Story of Trey- Chapter 1 Options

[treydog]

The Story of Trey

Me that ‘ave been what I’ve been
Me that ‘ave gone where I’ve gone
Me that ‘ave seen what I’ve seen …
Me

Chant-Pagan, English Irregular, Discharged
Rudyard Kipling

Chapter 1

My name is Trey, and this is my story. As I sit in my stronghold and look at the nicked swords, still glowing with enchantment; the battered alchemy apparatus; the books and scrolls; I am reminded how it was that I, a Breton of High Rock, came to be a power in Vvardenfell, a land of which I had never heard. This is the story of how I came to Morrowind and what happened after.

I never knew my parents. My mother, who died giving birth to me, was said to have been a hedge witch of no great fame or talent. Of my father, the most that could be said was that he was a sometime bard, sometime thief, full time scoundrel who didn't even leave a name behind for his son. My talents I inherited from my mother, my tendencies from my father. For family, I had an inn-keeper and his wife, who took payment for their "charity" out of my hide and out of my free labor. Slavery is illegal in the Empire, they say. You couldn't prove it by me. At 17, I took the 3 drakes from the cash box, the horse from the stable, and my life to Cyrodiil. My thought was that a fellow of my obvious talents should have no trouble finding fortune in the Imperial City. Fortune I found, in plenty. Misfortune.

My intention was to earn a few coins with my herb lore, perhaps pick up a few useful spells, and so, become apprentice to a mage or alchemist. But the first thing I discovered upon arrival was that everything came at a price- 1 drake to even get in the city gate. When I looked for a livery stable to put up the horse, they wanted 5 for the week! "Very well," I said, "How much will you give me for the horse?"
The ostler walked around the old roan, checked his teeth, hooves, and legs, stared into space and said, "15, and I'm doin' you a favor."

Young I may have been, but not that young.

"Forty, and I get to sleep in the loft for the week."

After a long negotiation, I was richer by 27 drakes, minus a horse, and free in the Imperial City. A place to sleep I would have to find on my own. I wandered the streets the rest of the day, seeking an inn. Some turned me away based on my clothes, others were too dear. Near dusk, I came upon a park filled with herbs and flowers.

"Here now." thought I, "This is a chance to use my skills to earn some money. No doubt these city people have no idea of the properties of these plants." So I spent the remaining light gathering my pockets full of seeds, blooms, and pods. Finally, tired from my labors, I sought a tree under which to sleep. Later, feeling something poking me in the back, I made to turn so as to get away from what I thought was a tree root. The poking became harder and more insistent. Then came a voice:

"Time to get up, Blondie. We have a room all ready for you."

It was a pair of gods-forsaken Imperial guards, and the "root" was the butt of a spear. It seemed that sleeping in the park was against the rules. Well, maybe a cell wouldn't be so bad. I should have known that nothing was free or easy in the Imperial City.

Once we reached the prison, a bored sergeant said,

"What have we got here, boys? An axe-murderer? Perhaps the mastermind behind the ebony smuggling ring?"

"No, Sarge. Just another vagrant sleeping in the city park. We'll head back out on patrol."

"All right, Breton, let's see what's in those pockets," said the sergeant.

Remember what I said about nothing being easy?

After all the plant material was laid on his desk, the sergeant said, "Do you know that the parks are considered the property of the Emperor? Do you know that there are severe penalties for stealing from the Emperor? Well, it's too late for court tonight. But we won't take any chances with you. Darfa, got a customer for you."

A man in mage's robes came out from a side room, carrying a bracer that glowed with enchantment. As he locked the bracer around my wrist, I could feel the magicka drain out of me. That would make things a bit more difficult, but not necessarily impossible, depending on how closely they searched me. They took all my cash, "for safe-keeping," but missed the lock-picks I had hidden in my mouth and hair. Good to keep in mind, but for now I had a bed out of the elements. Into the cell I went. Wooden bunk, wooden bucket in the corner, no blankets. Welcome to the big city. There was nothing for it, so I curled up on the bunk and slept.

The next morning, breakfast. Gruel, but there were no bugs in it, so I ate. Then I was rousted out to go see the magistrate. In the courtroom, I waited as other prisoners were hustled forward, asked to state their names, home provinces, and lineage. Then a bailiff read off a list of charges and the magistrate pronounced sentence. It quickly became clear that the only verdict was, "Guilty." If you got arrested, you had done it. The more I watched, the angrier I got. Why even bother to have a "trial" when the answer was already decided?

Finally, it was my turn. "Prisoner, state your name, province, and parentage."

All the anger over what had happened got the best of me, I guess. Or maybe I just naturally have a big mouth...

"Trey of High Rock, son of Nona Yerbisnes and Gofor Kyerself."

Whack! A spear haft whipped across the back of my legs and sent me to my knees.

"You are accused of vagrancy, vandalism of an Imperial park, and theft of Imperial property. In addition, your actions in this court constitute assault on an Imperial official and disturbing the peace. I find you guilty and sentence you to a fine of..." a whispered conference with the guard... "29 drakes and 30 days at hard labor. Next case."

If I hadn't mentioned it before, I really hate Imperials.

Back we went to the prison. This time, I watched everything. No way were they going to get 30 days of free labor from me. I counted guards, noticed which doors were locked, even spotted a very interesting chest marked "Evidence". Fortunately, there was no labor detail on court day, so I was taken back to my cell, where I could plot my escape. To this day, I wonder what would have happened if I had just given them their 30 days.

At dusk, the guard brought a scoop of water and a chunk of bread. I settled down to wait. The time passed slowly and the prison at last grew quiet. I pulled the lock-pick from my mouth and tried the magicka-draining bracer. No luck, the lock was too complex, a type I had never seen before. Ah well, I really didn't want to take the time to recover my magicka anyway.

The lock on the cell door wasn't so much of a problem, and I found myself in the corridor. Soft-footed, I eased to the door of the guard-room. I listened carefully and heard nothing. Slowly, I opened the door to an empty room. There was just enough time to check that evidence chest, and then I would be on my way.
The lock on the evidence chest proved to be more than my tools and skills could handle, so I gave it up and returned to the most important thing- getting away. Again, I listened at the door to the street and heard nothing. With a careful touch I opened the door just enough to slide out into the street and... the light from half-a-dozen lanterns pinned me in a glare like daylight. Behind the lanterns I could see cross-bows held steady, pointed at my chest. Then a guard captain stepped into the light and said,

"That's him, sir. That's Trey of High Rock."