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.

[Zelda_Zealot]

YES!! First reply! Ha ha! Ahem, back to buisness. Great stuff, I really liked how you did the whole thing with the armorer, makes it feel like they are more then NPCs. And the mining comment brought something to mind, where IS the Adamantium ore in Old Mournhold? I only ever found one... well good luck to Trey if he decides to get into that line of work.

[mplantinga]

Great start to the second chapter. I enjoyed listening in on Trey's mental dialogue as he searched for the actual smith. Trey's careful thinking has always been one of the best parts of his character (IMO).

[Soulseeker3.0]

nice conversation and other descriptive stuff

(I know what i'm thinking but can't acctually say it... or something)

[treydog]

Now that I had resolved to search for my quarry beneath the city, I had to consider the question of where to begin. Mournhold consisted of four “quarters” or districts surrounding the central palace area: Godsreach, the Temple, the Great Bazaar, and the Plaza Brindisi Dorom. The area beneath Godsreach I had already “searched,” if running from goblins and rescuing Dilborn could be considered searching. As far as I knew, the Plaza provided no access to the sewers, and I doubted that the Dark Brotherhood was sheltering beneath the Palace or the Temple. It wasn’t that I believed either the Royals or the Temple were too pure to use assassins- I just imagined that their institutional paranoia would not allow a band of killers whose loyalty was negotiable to nest in such close proximity. That left the Great Bazaar, a place where the constant ebb and flow of locals and strangers would provide concealment for the movement of individuals with a sinister purpose. Also, it was said that anything could be purchased in the Great Bazaar, if one had the right price. That “anything” could certainly include the removal of an irritating or inconvenient individual.

A part of me longed to wander through the Bazaar and visit the shops, but I was only too aware of the passage of time. Although I had only been in Mournhold for a short time, I had managed to do several things that could bring unwelcome attention. How long would it be before word reached the Dark Brotherhood of a Breton, bearing a silver long sword? My actions in the Winged Guar would excite some talk, and the gambler Drathas likely had underworld connections, as well. So, regretfully, I ignored the swirling crowds, the sights and sounds, the sheer life of the Great Bazaar and made my way to a trapdoor leading down into the sewers.

Once I had reached the foot of the ladder, I found myself standing knee-deep in a pool of water, which was thankfully fairly clear. The water seemed to disappear into an unfinished or caved-in passage to the east; a more modern ramp angled upward to the west. Beyond the dripping of moisture, all was silent, but I now knew better than to trust that seeming peaceful stillness. A whispered “mothaich biúthaidh” invoked the Beggars Nose charm, and I closed my eyes and turned a slow circle, allowing my inner eye to see what might be hidden. From where I stood, only a single possibly hostile creature was revealed, along with one magic source not far to the north. With my normal vision, I eyed the flooded passage with distaste. Useful though that innate ability to detect enchantments was, it revealed neither the nature of the enchanted item, nor the strength of the magic. Although I was able to swim, I did not much enjoy the prospect of submerging myself in that dark tunnel. The confined space as well as the water would put me at a disadvantage in a fight- and my improving marksmanship would be of no use. Then too, I didn’t really enjoy the prospect of swimming in a sewer, no matter how much of the water came from rainfall. In the end, greed and curiosity overcame fastidiousness and I decided to investigate that tantalizing hint of magic. Just before the water closed over me, I gulped my last remaining potion of water breathing, then plunged down the passage. After a sharp turning to the left, a flooded chamber was revealed, with a skeletal corpse in repose on the rubble-strewn floor. An arrow, still imbedded in the ribcage, hinted at the cause of this unfortunate’s death, but all of his other possessions seemed to have rotted or been scavenged- all that is, except for a potion bottle still clutched in his right hand. Feeling my water-breathing spell beginning to fade, I grasped the potion and quickly swam for the exit. When I had dragged myself onto relatively dry ground, I examined my treasure, which careful testing revealed to be… a potion of water breathing.

Much as I wanted to express my feelings about the gods and their “little jokes,” I restrained myself. Giving in to the strong desire to let loose a string of curses would only reveal my presence to anyone who might be nearby. I was a thief, not a berserker. Still, the state of my nerves nearly brought me to grief when I literally bumped into a Khajiit who was lurking in the shadows at the top of the ramp leading west. So quiet was she and so well did her blackened netch leather armor blend into the shadows that she might have been a shadow herself. Except that shadows don’t squall and curse in Khajiiti when you step on their tails. Once I had (metaphorically) climbed down from the ceiling and was able to speak, I apologized as best I could, to no avail. The Khajiit merely wrapped her tail protectively around herself and hissed,

“Ahnia does not know you; therefore she has nothing to say.”

It seemed that there was more to her attitude than annoyance at my clumsiness, but I didn’t see any reason to confront her- people who make the mistake of irritating Khajiit soon discover that they aren’t just “big kitties.”

After moving away from Ahnia, I recast my detection spell, which now revealed a half-dozen or so hostile creatures at various locations. Truth to tell, I rather enjoyed the prospect of a little swordplay- after the incident with the potion and the encounter with the Khajiit, a fight seemed like just the thing to vent my frustration. Soon enough, the spectral form of an ancestor spirit rushed toward me, uttering the eldritch wail of its kind. While a part of me wondered how a being with no vocal apparatus could create such a racket, another part was using my magical sword to good effect. Although I had been disappointed in the paltry damage my flame-enchanted silver blade had done to the goblins, it was quite sufficient for the undead. That proved fortunate, as I encountered several skeletons and spirits, as well as a few Rattus gargantuas, during my explorations. Finally, after many turnings and retreats from caved-in areas, I spotted movement that did not seem to be some spirit or creature intent on killing me. Observation revealed a Dunmer woman pacing a short section of corridor, casting fearful glances at a doorway. She had apparently not heard my quiet footsteps, so I took a few moments to study her from the shadows. She was dressed in clean but threadbare clothing and appeared to be both frightened and distraught. Nevertheless, I approached her carefully, unsure that any person with good intentions would be wandering about down here.

Stepping into the guttering light of a torch, I spoke quietly,

“May I be of service?"

She whirled about and threw up a protective hand, but then relaxed slightly and replied,

“Ah, you are not one of them, then. I feared…. No, I do not believe you can help me, yet I will tell you my story so that you may beware of the Black Dart Gang.”
She told me her name, Narisa Adus, and then sobbed,

“They have robbed me of everything I hold dear. They ambushed my lover and me in the Temple Sewers. Variner held them off while I ran. When I turned to look back, Variner was down. I just kept running. Now Variner's ghost comes to me at night, begging me to come to him, to rescue him. He says he has a message for me... but I can't go down there. I can't face the Black Dart Gang. Variner was a great fighter, but with one dart, he was dead in seconds. They'd kill me for sure.”

When I again offered my help, she paused and took in my armor and weapons, then shook her head.

“I do not doubt that you are brave enough, but they would kill you. They dress like poor beggars, but carry deadly poison darts- one is enough to kill most people. If you see them, flee. But if you see Variner’s ghost, speak to him. Perhaps you can bring his message to me.”

Although her words hurt my pride, I could not deny their wisdom- had I not just reminded myself that I was not a warrior? Seeking out a fight with this Black Dart Gang would be foolish, particularly when they were not my enemies. Stealth and cleverness would serve me, not the strength of my arm. Yet the mute appeal in Narisa’s eyes moved me. I, too, had been beset with troubling dreams and had heard the importuning of unquiet spirits. If I could bring peace to this one ghost, perhaps others of his kind would do the same for me.

This post has been edited by treydog: Sep 26 2005, 12:26 AM

[Zelda_Zealot]

Ha! I loved that part with the Khajiit! I do stuff like that all the time in Morrowind, only it is with enemies jumping out of nowhere the very instant the stupid "Air Wick" goes off. Great addittion though.

Edit: I hope Trey happens to remember the switch to kill all of the Black Dart Gang, after all, there is no point in writing a story about a dead Breton rotting in a sewer.

This post has been edited by Zelda_Zealot: Sep 24 2005, 04:40 PM

[Wolfie]

A whispered “mothaich biúthaidh” invoked the Beggars Nose charm

Is that Irish or just a language very similar to Irish? Either way, great update

[treydog]

Yes, literal Gaelic translation "seek enemy." Decided to follow OverrideB1's example- spells should have a verbal component, and since my ancestry is Irish...

[Wolfie]

Woo for Irish people!
Tiocfaidh ár lá!

[Neck' Thall]

I wish i could find a Polish thing for spells...but i dont knwo where to look.

[Soulseeker3.0]

good story Trey, keep up the good work and nice part about the Khajiit. My only question was didn't Trey have an enchanted Deadric Dia-Katana?

[mplantinga]

Another fine example of Trey's mind at work. I'm glad to see his increasing power hasn't led to arrogant overconfidence.

[Kiln]

Great addition Trey, update soon.

[treydog]

good story Trey, keep up the good work and nice part about the Khajiit. My only question was didn't Trey have an enchanted Deadric Dia-Katana?

That happened "later." The events of this story take place somewhat earlier in Trey's career- during the "missing" period referred to in Chapter 10[?] when I aged him. So he is not yet the Nerevarine- in fact, doesn't know about the prophecy. Basically, this happens shortly after the completion of the Council Club bloodbath.

[Soulseeker3.0]

Aaahhh, I see, thanks. I was completly confuzzled with the whole Silver long sword thing. Well keep up the story, it is good

[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.

[Soulseeker3.0]

Very nice Trey very nice, please continue

[minque]

Oh my dear Trey! Good thing you decided to get out of the sewers......I´m reading this with my heart beating because I find Mournhold so utterly scary.....when I play that is! So hehe..it´s safer to read about Trey´s experiences down there.....


I thing I´ll add a classic comment that hasn´t been used for some time now


S.G.M

[treydog]

Upon awakening, I had made a decision- although I wanted to find the Dark Brotherhood, the last few days seemed mostly to have consisted of stumbling about in the dark, mentally as well as physically. Being constantly on guard was a terrible strain, and I had not really found any worthwhile information. The people who frequented the sewers did so for reasons of their own and were not inclined to share knowledge with a stranger. Then, too, I had acquired some additional goblin gear that I could convert into gold at the Craftsmen’s Hall. Finally, and perhaps most decisive, I was a young man in the provincial capital. I wanted to see the sights, visit the shops, take a few moments to think of something other than fighting and dying alone and unlamented. As it turned out, the gods or someone close to them had different ideas.

As before, Master Indalen was glad to pay a reasonable price for the shields and weapons; better yet, he still asked no questions. However, he did become somewhat more talkative, to the point that he invited me into a corner of the Hall for a “quiet word.” Mopping his brow with a cloth, he spoke,

“Sera, it is obvious that you have a knack for survival. Though you are young, you have had success hunting goblins. The fact that you have done so and are still alive is a great testament to your skill. Therefore, I am minded to ask a favor of you.”

Before I could speak, he raised a hand to forestall me,

“I do not ask for assistance requiring force of arms- there are mercenary soldiers available for such things. Instead, I need to draw on your experience to assist me with a business problem. Perhaps you have seen that Imperial peacock, Ilnori Faustus, wandering about the Hall?”

When I admitted that I had seen the fellow, Master Indalen scowled and said,

“I hired him in a weak moment, as a favor to a friend. He is supposed to be an apprentice armorer. Ha! All he does is complain about the heat and the dirt. Worse yet, he is so full of himself that he offends the customers. He wants to be an adventurer, he says. Somehow, he thinks to overawe the bandits and monsters with his good looks and his fancy words. If you could talk to him- drive those romantic notions out of his head- I would appreciate it. Tell him what a ‘life of adventure’ is really like. He may never make a decent smith, but getting him to cease his constant whining would be worth a great deal to me.”

Master Indalen had treated fairly with me, and having an important merchant in my debt could be helpful, so I agreed to do my best.

The young Imperial was easy enough to find; he was standing before a highly polished shield, which he was using as a mirror. He seemed to be waving an imaginary sword around, shouting, “Ha!” and “Have at thee, foul knave!” When I noisily cleared my throat, he stopped jumping about and carefully combed his hair before turning around and looking at me in a superior fashion. He curled his lip in a sneer and drawled,

“Are you speaking to me, Breton? I suppose you want some armor or steel something-or-other, right? Well, why don’t you take your sniveling looks and ungrateful tone and talk directly to the smith? I’m ‘just an apprentice.’ I’ve got nothing to offer the likes of you. I don’t belong here.”

Although his insults were hard to stomach, I had promised Master Indalen that I would try, so I merely said, “I am sorry to hear you say so. You say you think there is somewhere that your talents might be better used?”

His answer was more of the same nonsense:

“Yes, just look at me. I'm the picture of perfection. Look at these nails. Do you know how much I had to pay those filthy Hlaalu manicurists for these? Look at my flawless complexion, the ideal proportions of my body. Do you think the gods created such an image of majesty for the purpose of blacksmithing? Certainly not, my very naive friend. Clearly I am destined to become an adventurer.”

Trying to strike the right balance between respectful doubt and outright skepticism, I asked, “Are you certain that the life of an adventurer is what you want?”

He responded haughtily, “That's right. I'm too good for this place. Slaving over a hot forge is a job best left to the plebes. I mean, look at old Bols over there with his torn, sweat-and-saliva stained shirt, his head like a giant, corprus-infected melon, and that faltering gait of his like a guar with venereal warts. It's a wonder he even remembers to put his pants on in the morning, it really is. Now, compare him with me.”

Still trying to reason with the Imperial idiot, I ventured, “Perhaps strength and skill with arms and armor might be useful attributes for an adventurer….”

With an even more pronounced sneer than before, Faustus asked, “Do you mock me, plebe? I aspire to heights greater than you've ever dreamed of. Do you think monsters and evil men will stand any chance when they behold this majestic specimen of humanity striding toward them? No! They will quail and faint at the sight of me. I will wave their corpses aside with a swipe of my hand. My greatness is inevitable. In fact, I believe I will start on my adventuring just today. Mark my words, Breton-- next time you come around, you won't find me here.”

And with that, the insufferable fool strode out the door and into the street.

I was even more stunned by Ilnori Faustus’ sudden departure than by his monumental arrogance. For a few seconds I simply stared at the door, overwhelmed by an unaccustomed feeling of guilt. Even though I personally believed that Master Indalen was better off without such an unsuitable apprentice, he had asked for my help. I felt somehow responsible for his loss, but had no idea what to do about it. Then too, I feared that I might have contributed to Ilnori Faustus’ death, which was likely to occur sooner rather than later. The best that could be said was that I had ensured that some bandit or creature was probably going to be bored or at least confused for a few minutes. All in all, I felt that it might be wise to avoid Master Indalen for a time, so I made a much more discreet use of the exit. As I pondered what to do next, a High Ordinator approached and asked if I was “Trey, Adept of the Temple.” When I acknowledged my identity, the silver-armored guard handed me a sealed note and left. Breaking the seal on the parchment, I found that Fedris Hler, Steward of the goddess Almalexia, required and requested my attendance on him at my earliest convenience. He would await me in the reception chamber of the great temple of Mournhold.

[Soulseeker3.0]

Very good Trey Please add somemore