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."

[Destri Melarg]

Trey’s story from the beginning! I can finally gush about this publically the way that I did privately upon my first reading. I’ll tell you, trey... it’s my turn to take notes. Every writer on this forum can benefit from reading (and re-reading this story). Most first person narratives devolve into telling, but you manage to ‘show’ us everything that happens through Trey’s deceptively simple way of presenting the story. I’ve said it before and i’ll say it again; your ability to immerse the reader is astounding. Trey had me from his first sentence and he kept me through the entire piece. I was especially impressed with the way you managed to give the Imperial City a personality through the words and actions of its citizenry, without once taking the time to describe it.

The scenes in the prison were expertly handled. With two locks you give us the fact that Trey has skill with a lockpick... and that his skill is somewhat limited. The ending left me wanting to know what happens next...

Magnificent!

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

Damn straight!!

[hazmick]

I don't believe I've ever read Trey's story, though I've had the delight of reading his son's.

Looking forward to another adventure

[treydog]

Um.... wow? I had never seriously considered reposting the first chapters, even after the Fan Forge went pear-shaped. Now I can see that was yet one more error in judgment....

@hazmick- Thank you so much. I hope you find this story enjoyable. You will probably learn a bit about the forces that shaped Athlain as you read about his father.

@Destri- I never say it enough- but your talent as a writer awes me. Therefore, to get such praise from someone who I admire is... beyond words. If I know a secret about writing- one which took me too long to learn- it is this... write a story you would love to read. From the moment I scribbled those first words on the back of a page from my "slush pile" at work, Trey took on a life and personality that I could not hope to contain, only to try and chronicle.

A/N- Near the end, Trey mentions the smell of Vvardenfell. That bit of scene-setting comes from talks with a number of Vietnam veterans. Thank you all for your service and for sharing your experiences.

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A heavily cloaked and hooded figure stepped into the light, flanked by crossbow-wielding guards. Even from beneath the hood, I could feel the intensity of his gaze. A commanding voice from somewhere behind the hooded person spoke,

"Very well, Trey. You can come quietly under your own power... or just quietly." At the last phrase, the stranger touched an amulet at his throat. I shrugged -carefully- and replied,

"You're the boss. Where am I going?"

One of the guards blew a whistle and I heard a carriage come up the street. Another guard stepped forward with a cheap (and smelly) cloak, which he threw over me. Then he pulled the hood down to conceal my face. The darkened carriage pulled up and the captain said,

"Inside, Breton. We're going for a ride."

As the door was opened, I caught a glimpse of a coat of arms that had been blacked out. It might have been a dragon. Or perhaps not. Four guards climbed in with me and two more rode on the outside of the carriage. Someone wasn't taking any chances. Who did they think I was? My few attempts to ask questions or start a conversation were met with stony silence. These people must really take their flowers seriously, I thought.

Hours later, I became aware of an odd smell, like dead fish and salt. The carriage wheels rattled off the cobblestones and onto wooden planks. Low voices called orders and the doors were opened. We were on a dock, with a low, single-masted ship lying alongside. No lights were burning on board and only one man was on deck. As I stepped down, the guards surrounded me and hustled me up the gang plank. From a second carriage came the mysteriously cloaked figure as well as a mage. At a nod from the cloaked stranger, the guards thoroughly searched me, finding both of my hidden lock picks. Then, to my surprise, they unlocked the bracer from my wrist and stepped back. Before I could react, the mage came forward, raised an amulet, and spoke words I couldn't understand. I felt my knees turn to water and fell forever into darkness.

How long I slept I don't know. The dreams I had were unlike any I had ever known. A barren, blighted land was suddenly washed with healing rain and bloomed anew; a voice spoke strange words of comfort, words that seemed at once strange and yet familiar. I felt as if I were in the grip of a terrible fever, yet at peace as I never had been before.

The next I knew, a raspy voice was saying, "Wake up. We're here. Are you okay? Why are you shaking?"

Awakening, I almost feared that my dream had turned to nightmare. Facing me was an elf like none I'd ever seen. He had skin the color of ash, one red eye, and a nasty scar crossing the other eye socket. Still, he seemed concerned for me. His next words were, "Even last night's storm couldn't wake you. I heard them say we've reached Morrowind. I'm sure they'll let us go. What's your name?"

I just had time to tell him, "Trey," and to hear his response, "Jiub," when a guard approached.

"They want you up on deck," he growled, displaying just as much personality as every other guard I had met. With a shrug to Jiub, I followed the guard through the lower hold and then the upper and finally onto the deck. That was my first glimpse of Morrowind, the place where my life would change beyond my imagining, a place of dreams and nightmares, loyalty and betrayal, blood and magic. Before I was even aware of the sights and sounds, I was assaulted- there's no other word- by the smell. Humidity, vegetation green and rotting, fish left too long in the sun, cooking fires. The smell said to me, deep down, "Trey, you are very far from home."

I took a moment to look around and saw docks, thatch-roofed buildings, a lighthouse, and something that looked like a giant flea with- was that a PERSON up there? I had a feeling I had just dropped myself deep into the privy pit.

The Redguard standing watch on deck pointed me down the gangplank to the dock with the words, "This is where they want you. Head down to the dock and he'll show you to the Census Office."

The guard on the dock must have been blind or drunk- he asked me where I was from. For once, I decided to just answer the question and not be my usual sarcastic self. Maybe travel really was an education.

In a bored voice the guard responded, "I'm sure you'll fit right in."

With those words, he took me up to the building and indicated that I was to go in. Inside was yet another guard and an officious clerk by the name of Socucius Ergalla. He said they'd been expecting me and proceeded to ask me a bunch of nosy questions about my abilities and preferences. Even when I felt inclined to lie, I couldn't. It must have been some leftover effect of whatever spell that mage cast on me back in Cyrodiil. Anyway, under that strange compulsion, I told the Census fellow that I preferred Stealth and long blades, and that I knew a little alchemy and some minor spells. There was a lot more and afterwards I felt as if I had been paraded naked through the town. This wasn’t a Census; it was an Inquistion.

Finally, he asked for my birth sign. "The Tower," I said, wondering why he cared. I decided if he invited me to meet him for a drink later, I would take a swing at him, guard or no guard. But no, it was just more of the Empire's nonsense. He asked me to check over the papers and then said four words that caught my interest, "...collect your release fee." That had a nice sound. I wondered what sort of money they were talking- maybe the 29 drakes they had stolen from me back in Cyrodiil?

The guard unlocked an inner door and told me to go on through to the next building and talk to Sellus Gravius. I stepped into an empty hallway and casually swung the door shut. Alone at last, I took a moment to examine my surroundings. I saw a short hallway with one small room off to the right and a few steps down straight ahead. I decided to check out the right-hand room first. It appeared to be a small dining room, with food and plates still on the table. Stuck into the table was an iron dagger. Short blades were not my favorite weapon, but anything was better than bare knuckles. There was also some nice silverware and some local liquor. Best of all, someone had carelessly left a lock pick lying around. I palmed the pick and noticed a cheap money box on the bottom shelf. I decided that it was only right that I check the quality of their lock. After all, if that evil-looking elf from the ship came through after me, he'd probably just pocket whatever he found. Better for a fine upstanding Breton like myself to hold any valuables. Inside were 31 drakes. This was outstanding, my first day in a new town and I had already turned a profit. I quickly decided that if I could find a sack, I would also "protect" the better silverware, the alcohol, and the alchemy ingredients before some thief came along.

Down the steps I found a storeroom with a few sacks of ingredients. I borrowed one of the sacks and bagged everything up. Then I paused. There was no way all these guards were going to let a prisoner fresh off the boat stroll through with a sack full of loot. The memory of how they had piled on for a few flowers was fresh in my mind. After all, that was what had gotten me sent here- or so I thought. "Time to be a bit careful, Old Son," I said to myself. "Let's get the lay of the land first." So I placed the bag out of sight and carefully opened the door leading from the small dining room. For a change, it seemed that luck was with me- the door opened to a small, blessedly EMPTY yard, an empty yard with a rain barrel. Rain barrels are a wonderful place to temporarily keep things that might lead to embarrassing questions and even more embarrassing answers.

Apparently, someone else had had the same idea- inside the barrel was a ring of healing. I was beginning to like this place. Maybe the frontier was more suited to my temperament. So, with nothing in my hands except my release papers, I stepped into the next building. Oh joy,I muttered to myself as I saw yet another Legion officer. He took my papers and gave me back a sealed package, a set of directions, and, amazingly, 87 gold. Apparently concerned that I couldn't read, he explained the directions to me.

"Go to Balmora. Deliver this package to Caius Cosades. I don't know where he is. I don't know what it's about. I follow orders. I love the Emperor."

The directions made for some interesting reading. One section in particular caught my eye:

"Remember. You owe your life and freedom to the Emperor. Serve him well, and you will be rewarded. Betray him, and you will suffer the fate of all traitors."

I thought to myself, "Captain, you may enjoy being the Emperor's errand boy, but I have other plans." I figured I would drop off the package just to get them off my back and also to discover what in Oblivion this was all about, but I would do it in my own time. My priority was to get some cash and to scout this place out. Surely there would be some opportunities. The captain didn't seem to have anything more to say, so I excused myself, mumbling something about needing to step into the courtyard for a second. He ignored me as I casually carried the bag full of the Empire's silverware and liquor through the door. Part of being a successful thief is to act like you belong wherever you are and that you should be doing exactly what you're doing. Either I was getting better at it or else he just didn't care. Either way, I calmly stepped out into about the sorriest collection of shacks I had ever seen and a new life.

This post has been edited by treydog: Jan 31 2015, 10:03 PM

[McBadgere]

Hey...Wait a minute...This seems familiar... ...

Will try to keep up with the repostings matey!...

Love this story!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...



Editio...Seriously, I never ever feel anything less than awe when reading your stories... ...Properly amazing stuff...

One of these days I'll manage to get through the lot... ...

This post has been edited by McBadgere: Feb 1 2015, 08:08 AM

[hazmick]

oooh very mysterious! I love the way you use in-game dialogue but make it seem so natural, it works so well!

[Destri Melarg]

Seeing Jiub is like catching up with an old friend. I lost track of how many times I woke to his face when re-rolling a new character in Morrowind. You also capture the strangeness of the place by alluding to the Silt Strider and the vegetation. I remember my first time playing I wandered around Seyda Neen for nearly an hour looking for the Silt Strider because I was expecting a carriage or a bus or something. Imagine my surprise...

Gods, how I miss Morrowind!

Trey’s impression of Ergalla was spot on, and I wonder if there’s anyone who went through the census office back rooms and didn’t take anything. I certainly did.

[treydog]

@McB- I believe you might have wandered acrost this bit of scribbling previously, yes. And thank you for being such a faithful and laudatory audience. I know very well how skilled a writer you are, so I am thrilled by your words.

@hazmick- I appreciate that. One of the weaknesses (at least in my mind), with this first attempt was that I was afraid to stray very far from the actual in-game dialogue and events. Later, I did more with conversations to flesh out things that otherwise happened- “off-screen.”

@Destri- Dear Jiub. As fierce as he looks, he is your first friend in Morrowind- and then he disappears, never to be seen again… Morrowind is the first “non-linear” game I ever played. It took me FOREVER to realize… “Hey- I can just… wander around… it’s OK. There’s no clock ticking!” I tried to build a completely moral character once- he would not steal, only killed when he had to… he didn’t last long…

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I decided that the first thing to do was find someone who could point me in the right direction, give me an idea of who was who. There was no way I was going to ask the guards anything, especially not while I was carrying a bunch of goods without a bill of sale. Besides, conversation with most guards tends to be of the "Move it along. I've got my eye on you, and by the way, what's in the bag?" variety. No thanks. What I needed was somebody who was a little crooked, but not really very bright. The easiest person to gull is the one who gulls himself. And there, walking toward me, I saw a gift from the gods. Assuming that is that the gods love thieves and have a sense of humor.

He was a Wood Elf, or Bosmer, one of those annoying fellows you expect to be hanging out in some sylvan glade making songs about birds and butterflies. This guy's whining voice would have knocked the birds right out of their nests and turned the butterflies into sour milk. Self-important little twit, strutting about as if he had a million deals to set up, yet dressed no better than I was. So I tried my sincerest smile and said,
"Beautiful day, my fine Wood Elf. How fare you in this fine city?" It's a wonder I didn't choke on that, but you have to sound even dumber than the mark if you want to make it work.

His name was Fargoth, he said. He had noticed the boat coming in and thought it an odd time of day; it was apparently an unscheduled run. Not only that, but it seemed I was the only one who landed here in lovely Seyda Neen. Then he made a remark that told me I had picked the right elf:

"Hope the Imperials treat you okay."

There was a wealth of feeling in that simple statement, so I made an encouraging noise to keep him going. He mentioned that he was sure the local Imperial bully-boys had stolen his ring.

"Ring?" I said, glad that I wasn't wearing the one I had found in the rain barrel.

The little guy told a long story about how the guards were always shaking him down and now he was missing an "engraved ring of healing." Maybe I had seen it?

Now some people might think what I did next was either soft-headed or criminally stupid, but I reached into my pocket and pulled out the rain barrel treasure and asked him,

"You mean like this one?"

He was so excited, he was babbling. I was his new best friend. He was going to tell everybody. Those guards were going to get it one of these days. Finally, he ran down after promising to put in a good word for me with Arrille, the only merchant in the whole town. And that, my friends, is why I did it. I didn't need a sorry healing ring when I could cast hearth heal or make potions. I did need friends and inside information. "Bread upon the waters" is what you call it. Give a little bit and you may get back a lot more.

Now that he was my "best friend," I wrung every bit of information I could from the little Bosmer. One important thing he had told me that I filed away- there were some local strong-arm types already in control, and they were guards themselves or else were paying them off. So I needed to sell my goods, get an outfit, and move on before they took too much interest in the new guy. I had already had all the attention I wanted from the guards. So, it looked like a day or two here to make contacts and build up some cash, then it would be time to take it on the road. It also looked like it might be worthwhile to find a local place to stash most of my goods- preferably NOT a rain barrel, since the locals seemed to know that one already.

Otherwise, Fargoth told me about a place called 'Solstheim' somewhere "up North" where the Legion was having trouble. You can imagine how that broke my heart. He also tried to give me advice on how to read people and get on their good side. Remember what I said about letting the mark sell himself? Finally, he noted that the town was as bad as I feared- one trader, no guilds, no temples, no specialty shops. Well, I thought, one rundown store where the owner likes me beats a hundred high-class shops where they would throw me out because of my clothes. It was going to take time to build up a decent outfit and find out who the real powers were. That was one mistake from Cyrodiil I wasn't going to repeat here. I was going to find out who hollered when toes got stepped on, BEFORE I did any stepping. And then, just maybe, I would do more than step on toes.

Before going into Arrille's, I talked to a couple of other people to see if I could confirm what Fargoth had told me. It wasn't that I didn't trust him- I didn't trust anybody. But if three or four people said the same thing, chances were it was true. Nobody had much new information to add, some more talk of that Solstheim place, mostly of the "you won't catch me going there, but there's a boat from Khuul" sort. If I had been the sensitive type, I would have thought they wanted me to get out of town. There was also some buzz about the local tax collector going missing- no surprise; no one seemed terribly broken up about it. One fellow, an Imperial by the name of Vodunius Nuccius, caught my interest. It wasn't so much what he said- most of it the same patter I had heard from others- but the way he said it. There was a look on his face when he recommended I take the "silt strider" out of town that said he wished he was going, too. He offered to put in a word for me with the Darvame Hleran, the strider driver. I finally figured out that he was talking about that 30-foot tall flea-looking thing standing just outside of town. The idea of riding a huge bug like that gave me a chill.

I decided to look up the driver later, anyway. Someone who dealt with departures and arrivals would be a good source of information about who was traveling and where to and how often. It sometimes helps to know when someone is going to be out of town for a few days. You know, check the windows and doors, water the plants, clear away any clutter, that sort of thing. Anyway, that was for later. Right now I wanted to find out if I was going to be able to move my "merchandise" locally or whether I would have to go farther afield.

In Arrille's Tradehouse I got good news and bad news. Good news- he was my kind of trader- willing to buy without asking too many questions, and Fargoth had given me a good word. Bad news- he didn't have much of a selection of armor or weapons, mostly iron and something he called “chitin”. He did have some useful scrolls, plus a handful of spells he was willing to teach. I opened up the sack and settled down to squeeze every gold piece I could from the Empire's goods. Eventually, I was able to unload the silverware, the alcohol, and the dagger for around 200 drakes. That was better than I had hoped; with the "release fee" and the found money, I was over 300 to the good. Of course, coins by themselves are about as useful as a pile of pebbles- you can throw either one at a charging critter and get the same effect. So I looked over the limited inventory and made the best I could of it.

Back in High Rock, the regular guards and Imperial Legion were supplemented by what was charitably called a “militia.” If you were over fourteen years of age and had three out of your four limbs, you were in it. We “drilled” in whatever bits and pieces of armor hadn’t been melted down or turned into planters and coal scuttles, using laths and sticks in place of swords or spears. But even so, the occasional Legionnaire would take pity on us (or get so disgusted by our clumsiness) as to offer some real practice. And it turned out that I had some natural ability with a sword.

All of that meant I had some specific ideas about what sort of equipment I wanted. I chose chitin armor, for a start. It weighs a lot less than iron and is also much quieter. If you want to slip in somewhere unnoticed and slip back out with the maximum amount of whatever, light armor is the way to go. Weapons were more difficult- he had a nice silver claymore, which would cause serious damage, and could hold a decent enchantment if I got the chance.... But I also wanted a bow and arrows. (I prefer to stay at least a bowshot away from potential trouble if possible).

And there were a mortar & pestle gathering dust on an upper shelf; a must-have if those ingredients I had “found” were going to be of any use. So I selected an iron saber, instead. If I ran into anything that couldn't be hurt by iron, I'd be better off bravely running away. That also left me enough to pick up a fireball spell. My destruction skill was pretty poor, but maybe I could practice starting campfires or something. I passed over around 250 septims and strapped everything on. For the first time since leaving home, I started to feel optimistic about my chances. It’s funny how a new outfit can improve your point of view. Too, I figured that the locals might take me more seriously now that I didn't look so much like I had just fallen off the turnip wagon. Speaking of wagons, the biggest disappointment was the news that there were NO horses to be bought. Not just no horses in Seyda Neen- no horses ANYWHERE. No wonder people were riding giant bugs.

Arrille seemed like a friendly sort, so I asked if there were any opportunities for a fellow who was willing to work. He mentioned two or three things that might turn a profit- first, someone named Hrisskar was having cash-flow problems- he was upstairs in the bar. Next, anybody who was willing could turn bounty-hunter; it was open season on smugglers, outlaws, and criminals. There usually wasn't any reward, but you could keep whatever you found with no questions asked. Finally, more as a warning than a suggestion, he talked about the Daedric shrines scattered around. With weird names and weirder architecture, they were a magnet for nasty critters and equally nasty Daedra-worshippers. Arrille's feeling was they were good places to avoid. In spite of my new gear, I thought that was excellent advice.

For now, with my expensive mortar & pestle begging to be used, I decided to go on a gathering expedition. With the memory of what had gotten me tossed into prison fresh in my mind, I decided to take a little stroll out of town to the north. As swampy and humid as this place was, I guessed there would be good prospects for mushrooms and marsh plants. One of the few bits of formal training I had gotten mentioned that "marginal zones" like coasts, river banks, and swamps were good for medicinal plants. Some animals could also provide ingredients. Of course, this wasn't High Rock, so the plants and animals were likely to be different from what I was used to. I hadn't gone twenty steps when I found out how right that was. I was wandering around on the shore when a rock in front of me moved! Then it grew legs and claws and started toward me! That was no rock; it was a giant crab. To top it off, one of the guards who had done nothing up to that time but wander around yelled, "Huarrgh!" and started running at me with his sword raised. I thought, "This is just great- jumped by a crab and NOW they find out about the missing goods."

I started to back away saying, "Easy there, General. I don't know how it happened. Those plates and things must have just sort of fallen into the bag while I was dusting."

But the guard ran right by me and started whacking the crab. Mouth open in shock, I watched him dispatch the monster crustacean with a couple of blows and then calmly walk away. He hadn't been after me, at all. Seeing as the crab was no longer inclined to argue, I examined it closely. Sure enough, there was some useful meat. It might not taste too good, but it could help keep me going. I pulled out my bow and resolved to be more careful about where I put my feet.

Continuing north, I startled a huge rat. His teeth looked like yellow knives and those beady red eyes were filled with hatred. He was so close that the bow wasn't going to do me any good, so I switched to the saber. My technique may not have been good, but it got the job done. Looking back, my swordsmanship was probably more suited to chopping wood than dueling, but I was fighting for my life. Behind some rocks, I discovered what the rat had been doing. There was a body and it was definitely dead. Whatever this fellow had when he was alive wasn't going to do him any good anymore, so I searched the corpse. He was carrying a tax list and 200 gold. Here then, was Processus the Tax Collector. And whatever had killed him had used a dagger. Somehow I didn't think it was giant crabs or rats.

[hazmick]

Another exciting installment! I love Trey's inner voice, it really brings him alive.

Interested to see what he's going to do next with the tax collector situation - especially with his obvious dislike of the Empire.

[McBadgere]

I'm mightily impressed that you managed to get all that gear and still came out with change... ...

I've never played any of Morrowind, and can't seem to bring myself to watch gameplay videos...So this is always an excellent education in the game-that-I-will-never-play... ...

Fantastic stuff matey!!... ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[ArtemisNoir]

I mentioned this over in your other story, but I'll state it here again. Thank you SO MUCH for reposting this; I was afraid it might have been lost forever, and that would have been a tragedy!

[treydog]

@hazmick- Glad to have you reading. Trey's voice comes from a number of places- my own habit of berating myself, Raymond Chandler's excellent detective stories, and a dash of Magnum: P.I. And yes, the whole deal with Processus presents several problems- as will be seen...

@McBadgere- I completely understand the lack of desire to play the game. For me... because I got it when it was new- it was (and still is) a revelation. Games do not HAVE to be linear and one-dimensional and ... on and on. But it is over 10 years old now, which is forever in gaming terms. But that is why we still have the stories, because they breathe new life into the things we have loved for so long.

@ArtemisNoir2- And I thank YOU most sincerely for giving me the motivation to bring back the "missing bits." I see things I might do differently now, but... I admit I still love this, my first story, just as it stands. Happy reading.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As I stood over the body of the missing tax collector, all I could think of was that any minute now, a guard would come along and "discover" the crime. Shortly thereafter, I would be taking a short walk with a long drop at the end. Or maybe they would execute me on the spot, claiming to have caught me "in the act ". Even though I was a little rattled, I relieved Processus of his 200 gold and the tax list before clearing out of there. It may sound cold to you, but the way I saw it was- you can't spend gold in Oblivion, and besides, the Empire still owed me.

Rather than head straight back to town so soon after my rather public exit, I decided to follow my original plan- gather some ingredients. Soon enough, I found four kinds of mushrooms, as well as some swamp plants. I was a bit uncertain about some of the mushrooms- as far as I could tell, they would do more harm than good, but maybe there was a market for that sort of thing. If I didn't mix them myself, I could always swap for something useful. The coda flower was particularly interesting- if my analysis of the properties was right it could be part of a levitation potion. The idea of being able to float above an enemy appealed to me. If only I could find something to mix with it that would have the desired effect. I decided I would move a little further north into a sunny clearing along the trail to dry and grind my materials and test the results of various mixtures.

As I came out of the trees, I spotted something lying on the ground. It appeared to be a book of some sort. Just as I started to reach for the book, a blood-curdling scream came from ... up in the sky? Visions of some huge bird of prey flashed through my mind as I drew my bow and fearfully looked up. What I saw was a robed figure, falling from an incredible height. He continued to scream until he hit the ground, bounced once and lay still. What kind of place was this? Giant bugs for transportation, people falling out of the clear blue sky, killer crabs. I almost wished for my musty pile of straw back at the stable. Still, this just had to be investigated. First, I scanned the heavens to make sure that nothing had dropped the guy. If something big enough to carry off a full-grown man was still around, I wasn't going to interfere.

The book lying on the ground told me everything I needed to know. It seems that this Tarhiel, for that was his name, had invented a spell that would allow him to go really high up into the sky and cover vast distances in a single leap. Unfortunately, he had not bothered to think about landing. Say what you will about alchemists and their tendency to blow things up, at least we test things. Looking at Tarhiel, I could tell he spent all his time sitting in a wizard's tower, wearing his silly fur hat and inventing. Not testing, you understand, just inventing. Everybody ought to know that any human being can fly- once, briefly, and straight down. In spite of his questionable taste in headgear, Tarhiel did provide me with a handy enchanted sword- a long blade with shock damage. I also took the remaining scrolls he was carrying- they seemed to be called something like “Icarian Flight.” Maybe with experimentation, there would be a way to make them useful.

Let me tell you, this was starting to get more than a little creepy. I hadn't been in town half a day and had already found two dead guys. Well, found one dead and watched one die. Maybe that would have been normal if I was some little old lady scribe who said "Ayuh" and called people "dear." But I was a thief. The only time a thief is around dead bodies is when he's robbing a tomb or else something has gone wrong. I was perfectly willing to defend myself, but there was a reason I wasn't a pickpocket. You can usually explain why you are in the wrong house, but it's a lot harder to come up with a good reason why your hand is in the wrong pocket. With dead bodies showing up everywhere I went, I decided to go back to town for a quiet session of potion making. Also, I happened to have some spare clothing, only slightly stained, that Arrille might be willing to purchase. Why anybody would wear one of those Colavian "dunce caps" was beyond me, but Tarhiel sure didn't need his anymore.

One of the things you should remember if you wish to succeed, particularly outside the law, is that knowledge is power. When you know something that others don't, it can be profitable. Why the lesson in the economics of information? Because it was a lesson I hadn't learned yet, but was about to. Put another way, it usually doesn't hurt to keep your mouth shut.

Back in town, I made straight for the Tradehouse and sold off the extra clothing. Without really thinking about where the money was coming from, I purchased a couple of summon skeleton scrolls, which took just about all my gold. What I was thinking was... well, I probably wasn't thinking, I was just concerned about all the animals and dead bodies and wanted to have an edge. The idea was that I could let Uncle Boney take some of the hits while I cast spells and plunked arrows at the enemy. So then I walked out the door and talked myself right into trouble. The first person I encountered was Vodunius, still looking lost and unhappy. He greeted me politely and I should have done the same and kept on walking, but instead I said,

"Hey, I found Processus outside of town and he's dead. Murdered."

You know that voice you hear right AFTER you throw the rock at the hornet's nest, the smug little voice that says, "Boy, are you stupid"? Yeah, that one. The voice said to me, "You are a thief. You don't like the Empire. You just told an Imperial that you found the body of a murdered Imperial Tax Collector. Why don't you just drown yourself?"

Vodunius must have been really pre-occupied with his own troubles, though. He just said, "You should probably tell Socucius Ergalla at the Census Office, if you are so inclined."

My relief was short-lived. With everyone talking about the missing tax collector in a town this small, the story was going to get out. I had to decide- would it be better to wait for the guards to come see me or to go on and tell the story my way? Fortunately, I had managed to shut up before blabbing about the second dead body. Even the dumbest guard would have to start wondering about why I left a trail of dead men wherever I went. Even the truth probably wouldn't keep me from an appointment with the executioner. The Empire had an innovative system for dealing with suspected murderers- they killed them. The idea was that anyone suspected of murder was surely guilty of something.

It wasn't easy walking back into the Census Office. The only reason I ever want to return to the scene of the crime is because there was too much stuff to carry out the first time. I did my best "too busy to talk, got things to do" walk through Gravius' room, ducked into the Census Office, and put on an "I'm sorry to have to tell you" face.

As expected, Ergalla was upset about the murder, although I got the feeling that he was more concerned about the idea that someone was killing Imperial officials; maybe his name was on a list, too. Then he asked about the tax money. Uh-oh. He gave some song and dance about how the death was very sad, but the business of the Empire must go on, but I barely heard it. When I was buying those useful summoning scrolls, I forgot where most of the money had come from- namely, Processus’ body. And I didn't have it anymore. Before I could think of a good story about how the money was missing when I got there, Ergalla must have read my face. He insisted that I was going to have to get the Empire's 200 gold back- or else. I promised to do so, and wandered out of the office, trying to think of a fast way to get the cash together. I really didn't want to sell my stuff back to Arrille; I would take a loss, and besides, I needed everything I had. About that time, Fate, in the person of a pinch-faced Altmer, stepped in.

Her name was Eldafire and I had seen her around town before. I hadn't approached her, because she had a look that said my "lost puppy" routine wouldn't work; don't even bother to try. She was clearly angry about something; she stopped me and took in my not-quite new armor, the unlamented Tarhiel's magic sword, and the spare saber I had strapped to my back, and sniffed. Let me tell you, a world of feeling can be conveyed with a sniff, and this lady was an expert. She could give disdainful sniff lessons to the Empress.

Anyway, she fixed me with a stare and said,

"These guards are useless. So why don't you do something about those smugglers in Addamasartus? It's a cave over near the silt strider."

Smugglers...Arrille had mentioned something about smugglers, too. Maybe they were looking for a little help. I needed to go over and talk to Darvame Hleran at the silt strider anyway, so I could take a look at the cave. Smuggling wasn't really my line; I didn't care for boats that much, but the crew might be able to use someone who could help sell or distribute the goods. The more I thought about it, the better I liked the idea. Smugglers tend to move high-value, low-weight items, just the sort of thing I was looking to get in on.

Never letting on what I was really thinking, I bowed to the Altmer and said,

"Why, certainly, Eldafire. I would be pleased to investigate the smuggling problem."

Youth is a wonderful thing. What I mean is- it's a wonder we survive it.

[hazmick]

uh-oh, getting into trouble with the Empire already? At least Trey might learn from this mistake - even free gold can be a bad thing.

Addamasartus up next, and I for one can't wait to see what our hero thinks about these 'smugglers' once he sees what they're really up to.

[Colonel Mustard]

Now this is good!

I (vaguely) remember Blood on the Moon from yonks back, and having now read these I'm tempted to go back and reread it again. Trey's voice is incredibly strong, this absolutely glimmers with humour and you capture the exoticism of Vvardenfell expertly; I'm getting flashbacks to the first time I played that game whilst reading this.

I'm certainly looking forward to the rest of this, and I hope it comes soon, Trey, this is great stuff.

[ArtemisNoir]

"Youth is a wonderful thing. What I mean is- it's a wonder we survive it."
I had to chuckle at that, oh so very true! Sadly, though, at times it's just a wonder we survive our lack of wisdom at all. I know I've done some ill-advised things well past youth, and I doubt I'm the only one.

Hmm... I seem to recall that Addamasartus was a pivotal juncture for Trey. I'm very much looking forward to rereading it!

btw, Treydog, I'm trying to decide if you are cruel doling out these chapters slowly, or if I'm appreciating the sense of anticipation this creates.

[treydog]

@hazmick- He will have a typically “Treyish” response… as will be seen in an installment or 3… And he has a habit of talking first and not thinking until much later.

@Colonel Mustard- Welcome to memory lane! Trey very much took on a life of his own quite soon after I began to write his thoughts and experiences. Several times he objected to something I planned to have him do…. And more you shall have.

@ArtemisNoir2- Well um… yes. Not going to comment on my later in life follies (cough) beyond noting that I hope all the evidence has been destroyed- and perhaps a herd of wild horses run back and forth across it a few times.

As to the final question- definitely “cruel.” My penchant for cliff-racer.. ah... hanger… endings caused a number of threats to be bandied about. In jest, I am sure… well, almost sure….

-----------------------------------------------------

Growing up the way I had, money represented power. I watched how the inn-keeper and his wife would fall all over themselves to provide for the wealthy merchants who occasionally stopped at the inn. And I knew firsthand how they treated the orphaned bastard they had "taken to raise." It would be all "Oh, yes, great wealthy traveler, we can provide care for your 20 horses," followed by, "Trey, you lazy idiot, see to Master Moneybags' horses. When you finish you can have whatever is left in the kitchen." And whatever was left was usually the sort of stuff the cook wouldn't even give to the dogs. So money meant a full stomach, a warm bed, respect. I wanted all those things and I wanted the money to get them. The result was that I tended to quickly spend whatever coin came my way. I didn't desire money for itself, as a way of keeping score; I desired the things money could provide.

So it was that I found myself heading out of Seyda Neen, trying to figure out a way to replace the tax money I had found and promptly spent. The Empire is as protective of its tax money as a mother bear is of her cubs. As you are reading this, you might wonder why I didn't just get out of town. Perhaps I could have just left, hoping that the pursuit wouldn't find me. But remember, I was a blonde Breton in a land filled with Dunmer; a land that bristled with Imperial Legion forts and soldiers. And I didn't know the country- not the terrain, not the factions, not enough to hide successfully. So, for the moment, I was going to have to be a good little thief and get the money back. A citizen had tipped me to the fact that there was a smuggler's hideout nearby, and I had the idea that I could join them and replace the tax money while thumbing my nose at the Empire. Lesson number 43 for being a successful thief- it's about the profit; emotion is a luxury you can't afford. Don't steal for vengeance or out of annoyance- steal because you can get away with it.

As I made my way to Addamasartus (as the cave was called), I decided to follow up on my idea of talking to Darvame Hleran, the silt strider driver. When you may need to leave town in a hurry, it helps to be on friendly terms with the transportation professionals. I have to admit that I wasn't all that enthusiastic about riding on a giant bug, particularly one that resembled nothing so much as a 30-foot tall flea. But I could always talk to the driver without going for a ride. Right away, I mentioned Vodunius, figuring that a local reference might make Darvame more inclined to talk. It seemed to work, as she explained about the strider routes, some local rumors (which I had heard before), and added that she didn't think Vodunius was happy on Morrowind. That last I filed away for later- people looking for a change of scenery will often sell off their goods below cost just to raise money.

And speaking of raising money, I needed to get in contact with those smugglers pretty quick- Ergalla wasn't going to wait forever. I scanned the area near the strider landing and soon spotted a wooden doorway in the hillside just above a scummy pond. There were some apparently random markings carved into the door frame that told me this was the place. Those who operate on the fringes have a variety of methods of communication that don't mean anything to the average citizen or to the authorities. Carvings, mud splashes, chalk marks, even piles of stones can indicate places to avoid, people that are good for a free meal, sanctuary, and so on. Most people don't even see them or think they are just the work of children. But I could read the signs well enough to see that this place was a drop-off for contraband. So, full of plans to get into the local organization, I stepped into the cave and almost more trouble than I could handle.

As I entered the cave, I was greeted by the sight of a cheerful campfire, a small boat pulled up against one wall, and a red-haired Dunmer woman. I got as far as, "My name is Trey and...,"

By way of reply she screamed, "You will die!" and ran at me with a dagger in her hand!

This place was starting to get on my nerves. Here I was, just trying to make a dishonest living, and every time I turned around I was tripping over dead bodies or being attacked or asked to do something I didn't want to do. I guess the smugglers were an exclusive club, and I hadn't used the right password. Meanwhile, she was getting closer, so I pulled out the late, unlamented Tarhiel's sparksword and went to meet her. Believe me, I will boldly run away if I have to, but in this case I figured my long sword and armor were more than a match for her dagger and regular clothes. And besides, I was getting tired of all this and was really kind of glad to have an excuse to go a few rounds with somebody.

My skills might have been poor, but hers were non-existent. Using the superior length of my sword, I stabbed and backed away, usually causing her wild swings to miss altogether. Most of the few that got through skidded off my armor and did no damage. Most. One vicious swipe got past my guard and nicked the tip of my nose as I pulled my head back just in time. That did it! I was through playing. Blood dripping from my injured nose, I went into a flurry of chops and thrusts that quickly put her down.

Chest heaving from the exertion, I stood there for a minute, feeling the adrenaline drain away. So now I had taken that irrevocable step. I had killed another person. Maybe it was because she had been doing her best to murder me without provocation, or maybe I was just past caring, but mostly what I felt was tired. I cleaned my sword and cast a spell to cure my wound and then set about seeing how much she could contribute to “Trey's tax replacement fund.” The dagger looked to be worth a bit; she had a few coins in her pockets, and an interesting-looking key, marked with arcane symbols. Trouble was, I was going to have to kill about 20 or 30 smugglers at this rate to make up the missing money. Well, they were smugglers; maybe they had some goods I could confiscate.

A quick search of the entry cavern revealed nothing of worth- a few buckets and the boat, which wasn't going anywhere without more help than I was likely to get. There was also a locked gate, leading deeper into the cave. Before opening the gate, I decided to improve my chances of survival. First, I pulled some logs from the fire and extinguished them. After they cooled sufficiently, I smeared charcoal on my armor and weapons to cut down the reflection. Being quiet does no good if you are shining like a lamp in the window. Next, I activated my Beggar's Nose spell to try and get an idea of what else might be around. It doesn't always show enemies- in fact, it doesn't show people at all. However, the spell does pick out enchanted items and keys, as well as animals. Sometimes a magic source is a scroll or potion; other times it's the magic sword the guy just around the next bend is planning to use to whack you.

At any rate, the spell showed me a cluster of three enchantments to the west, a key to the south, and a single source further away to the northwest. Mindful of the greeting I had received upon entering, I decided to investigate the cluster of sources first and carefully opened the gate. As quietly as possible, I crept up a ladder to the left and came to a landing in front of a locked gate. Now I was getting somewhere. I said to myself, "These people probably keep their most valuable stuff in here." And that turned out to be true, but not in the way I had expected.

On the other side of that gate, I found a Khajiit and two Argonians. And they were slaves. Any regrets I might have had about killing that smuggler evaporated in that instant. Since I grew up practically a slave myself, I despise the practice of slavery. The way I feel about slavery and those who traffic in slaves makes my feelings toward the Empire seem positively warm. These poor wretches clustered around me and said,

"Do you have the key? Will you let me go free?"

Working quickly, I unlocked the bracers and freed Baadargo, Banalz, and Okaw. The slave bracers were the three enchantments revealed by the Beggar's Nose spell. They were worth a few gold, but the mere touch of them turned my stomach, so I resolved to pitch them into the sea. I questioned Baadargo and his companions, but they didn't know much. They had been grabbed, tossed onto a boat, carried off from the mainland, and caged here. That sure sounded familiar. They were in pretty poor shape; it didn't look like the smugglers had given any thought to feeding them. They weren't sure how many smugglers were around- they had seen a red-haired Dunmer woman and a wizard, who had put the bracers on them.

I shared out some kwama eggs I had found one place and another, and told them, "Stay here. I'll clean out the rest of the smugglers, then you can figure out a way to get out of here." I would have given them gold to buy their way home, but I didn't have it. One of the rumors I had heard in town was that there was an abolitionist movement; maybe these guys could find some help to get home. Meanwhile, I had some slave traders to educate on the finer points of swordsmanship. I really hoped they were fast learners, because there was only going to be one lesson and then a final exam.

[McBadgere]

See, the problem I have is that the thought, "Oh, I haven't quite got the time, I'll do that later." became - as my brain is, of late, wont to do - "I've done that..."...

Anyways, both episodes are excellent!...

That wizard is just too funny... ...Well, certainly for the observer, at least...It's no wonder people say Morrowind is insane... ...

Wait...I thought I did post something...'Cause I remembered saying about getting change from all the trading... ...

Hmmmm...Aaaaanyways...Proper loved that first episode hugely...Do love a good trading sesh meself... ...

Ah, the slave cave...I can see why Trey gets a bit angry with the response from the locals... ...

I got as far as, "My name is Trey and...,"

By way of reply she screamed, "You will die!" and ran at me with a dagger in her hand!

I know the feeling, I get much the same around here... ...Hmmm, maybe I should stop calling myself Trey...That might help...Dear Gods man, what have you done around here?!!...And why wasn't I invited/didn't you call in for a tea and scone?!!... ...

Amazing story...Proper love it!!...

Nice one!!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

...

[hazmick]

Hooray for Trey! Glad to see that the slavers haven't given him too much trouble thus far. Hopefully the rest of their crew will be dispatched quickly.

Lobbing slave bracers into the sea isn't a bad idea. Haa-Rei keeps any that he 'finds' (everyone needs a hobby, right?).

[treydog]

@McBadgere- The problem with my brain is that it has to live inside of my head.... Just saying.

And good old Tarhiel- a jab by the Duke University alumni of Bethesda at their hated North Carolina rivals. You know- it was many play-throughs before I actually got to see him falling from the sky.

Yes, introducing yourself as "Trey" does tend to cause people to reach for the cutlery for some reason. Thank you, my friend.

@hazmick- Trey had that one experience with what amounted to a slave bracer, plus his indentured servitude... so slavery is one of "those things" to him. Later on, his collection will consist of Dark Brotherhood headgear...

---------------------------------------------------------------

One of the few fortunate things about my unfortunate lineage is that I have a decent ability to resist magic. However, it doesn't do any good against elemental magic (think fire and frost spells), so I wanted to be prepared before I went up against the wizard that was supposed to be lurking around Addamasartus. First, I switched to my bow. It was chitin, and not very powerful, but in the close quarters of a cave, that shouldn't matter too much. Next I readied the shield spell known as Dragon Skin (another benefit of my dubious heritage) and glanced over the Summon Skeleton scroll. That may see like excessive preparation to some, but I had a healthy respect for wizards' abilities. And since buying the scroll was sort of what had gotten me into this mess, it seemed only fair to get some benefit from it.

So that was the plan- sneak up on Mr. Wizard, cast Dragon Skin, read the scroll, then pin-cushion him with arrows while the summoned skeleton took the abuse. Plans are wonderful things. They help us feel like we are doing something positive as opposed to running around squalling. Of course, for all the good most plans do, the exercise from running around and squalling would be of more value.

The plan kind of went out the window with Step One, “Sneak Up on the Wizard.” As I eased down the ladder from the slave pen, one of my really spiffy, charcoal-blackened-so-it-wouldn’t-glow-in-the-dark chitin boots kicked loose a pebble. Said pebble proceeded to cheerfully rattle all the way down to the landing where the wizard was standing among some crates and barrels.

Still, that was no problem, he was a long way off, and I could move to Step Two. Hang on a minute, which one was Step Two- Cast Skeleton Skin, shoot the mage with my dragon, throw a scroll at him? As I fumbled with bow, arrows, scroll, and spell gestures, he was running toward me. Apparently his plan consisted of only one step- kill the Breton. He also yelled something about, "This is the end of your spit," which didn't make much sense, as I wasn't cooking anything at the time. Of course, my mouth WAS pretty dry, so maybe that was what he meant. Anyway, trying to figure out crazy wizard battle cries wasn't going to do me any good, so I started pelting him with arrows.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to hit a moving target in a dark cave, shooting downhill with a cheap bow? I think maybe throwing the bow at him might have been better; he might have tripped over it.
"Okay," I thought, "I've got a second, time to read the scroll and get some help here."

That little exercise reminded me why I prefer potions. Trying to read a scroll as some guy comes charging at you with blood in his eye is not fun. Just in time, the skeleton coalesced in front of me- facing the WRONG WAY! "Not me! Him! Attack HIM!" I screamed. With a toothy smile (the only kind he was capable of), the skeleton turned toward the wizard. Relieved that something seemed to be going right for a change, I backed up, cast my Dragon Skin, and settled in to watch the fight.

Skeletons are really good for scaring the scrib jelly out of small children, and the higher level ones make effective guards, but the scroll variety don't stand a chance against a wizard. Mr. Bones absorbed a couple of fire-based spells (oh, wonderful, this wizard WOULD have elemental spells) and disappeared without getting in a hit. I was a little more fortunate; one of my iron arrows found its mark just under the mage's right arm. By now, he was right on top of me, so it was time for sword work again. He managed to damage me pretty severely before a quick thrust to the throat between his raised hands stopped his spell-casting permanently.

In terms of solving my financial problems, the wizard wasn't much better than the first smuggler- all he was carrying was another chitin dagger and a few coins. So there I was, half dead and a lot less than half way toward getting back the tax money. I was beginning to wonder if adventuring was really what I wanted to do. Then I remembered those slaves back upstairs. I had promised them I would finish this.

A few repetitions of my healing spell repaired the damage from the wizard's attack and I moved down to the landing to see what was in all those boxes and barrels. I also wanted to investigate that last enchantment that my Beggar's Nose had indicated. As quietly as I could, I peered down the next passage, and spotted a second red-haired Dunmer woman.

Hoping for a quick takedown, or at least to cause some damage, I drew back the bowstring and let fly. Apparently, at least for me, hitting a non-moving target in a well-lit cave, on level ground with a cheap bow is not easy, either. As soon as the first arrow rattled off the cave wall behind her, she started bobbing and weaving and chucking chitin throwing stars at me. Fortunately, her aim was almost as bad as mine.

Unfortunately, it was only "almost" as bad- those things sting when they hit. Giving serious consideration to using the bowstring to hang myself, I dropped the bow and pulled out Old Sparky the Sword and went for her. And obviously, I prevailed, else you would be reading the Story of Red-Haired Dunmer Smuggler No. 2.

A search turned up the usual paltry stash of coins, plus a lock pick and a probe. Hmmm, she must have been in the trade. Well, turning to smuggling human cargo was a career-limiting decision on her part. No one else seemed about to spring out at me, so I turned to the containers to see what my blood and sweat had bought.

Going through the various boxes, chests, and barrels yielded a mixed lot- weapons, cash, liquor, ingredients, household goods- and clothing. I was just starting to wonder why it was necessary to smuggle cheap trousers when I made an interesting discovery. Lifting out the clothing revealed several packets of a peculiar white, crystalline substance and a couple of small vials marked with a crescent moon. Clearly, these were some sort of alchemical ingredients and potions, but I had never seen anything like them. With a mental shrug, I added it all to the pile.

What with the weapons and the liquor, I thought I might have enough to make up the missing tax money. Still, that last enchantment I had detected pulled at me- maybe it would be the item that financed my future. That is the curse of the adventurer, the seductive voice that says, "Just one more tomb, one more shrine, then you can rest, I promise."

So I piled up everything I didn't want weighing me down while exploring, and pushed deeper into the cave. I passed through another gate into a long, flooded passage. I was able to keep my head above water most of the way, but there finally came a point where I was going to have to duck under a low overhang. Just to be sure, I cast the detection spell one more time- sure enough, the enchantment was on the other side of the overhang. I thought to myself, "If I'm going through all this for a stupid potion of water breathing...."

The submerged area was fairly short and I soon found myself in a half-flooded circular chamber with a high ceiling. A stone ramp led up out of the pool. There in a clump of mushrooms were scattered bones, pieces of armor, and a few coins. The detection spell indicated I was right on top of the enchanted item, but where was it? I turned slowly, scanning the ground for any manmade object. The eerie glow of the Luminous Russula made it harder to see. I knew there were spells of light or night-eye, but I didn't have those. Finally, I took off my gauntlets and crawled on my knees, feeling the ground inch by inch. There! It was a ring. I seemed to remember an old story about a burglar who went underground and found a magic ring... naah, couldn't be. I examined it closely and decided it was what is known as a Thief Ring. A handy item for one in my trade, it could provide a small boost to speed, agility, and personality. It was not a sword or helm of great power, but then what did I expect? People don't just leave really nice swords lying around where anybody can pick them up. With a salute to the bones of my long-departed brother thief, I made my way back to the pile of loot and out of the cave. As I passed the slave pen, I was pleased to see that the three captives had taken the opportunity to escape.

Coming out from underground to find that it was still daylight was a surprise. It felt as if I had spent at least a week in that cave. However, the sun was sinking, and I knew I needed to get back to town and unload all these smuggler goods. Although I couldn't accurately estimate the value of everything, I had a feeling I would be able to pay the tax money and still be well on my way to amassing enough to see about better equipment. In particular, those vials with the crescent moons appeared to be very high quality, not the half-fired clay jugs used for common potions. The more valuable the contents, the more ornate the container. With thoughts of having all the coin I could carry, I strolled into Arrille's and laid everything except the fancy vials on the counter. Those I wanted to save until I saw how the negotiations went.

Arrille's first words came as a surprise, "Get rid of that moon sugar. I don't want any trouble." Moon sugar? He pointed at the peculiar white crystals, a look of extreme distaste on his face. Okay, no problem. I gathered the packets of powder, carried them outside, and hid them. I came back in and laid the fancy vials on the counter in place of the Moon Sugar. His eyes practically popped out of his head. He looked around frantically and said, "I'm not going to buy that skooma from you. Get rid of it and then we can trade." I could hardly believe that this was the same trader who cheerfully took the silverware and liquor without blinking. There was some kind of story here, and I needed to know what it was. So, I cached the "skooma" with the moon sugar, came back inside and said,

"What's the problem with those items?"

"Skooma is an illegal narcotic substance made from refined moon sugar. Criminals use it as a kind of currency. It makes you strong and fast, but also clumsy and stupid. I want no part of it."

The problem of Arrille's delicate sensibilities taken care of, we settled down to haggle. In the end, I had managed to come up with a little over 300 gold. I decided to hustle over to the Census Office before my lack of control caused me to buy back the Colavian hat or something equally useful. Ergalla was pleased to see me. Of course, he was even more pleased to see the money. He started talking about how wonderful it was that I was so honest; in fact, he had needed someone trustworthy for a special job. When Imperial officials start talking like that, I start looking for a fast exit. Whatever they have in mind is going to be "for the good of the Empire" and bad for the person doing the work. Under all the flattery, what he wanted was for me to find out who killed Processus. The job would pay 500 gold. That sounded like a WONDERFUL plan- track down a murderer, get proof that he had done it, and squeal to the Empire so they could execute him. But no, I had misunderstood- the Empire wasn't going to execute the murderer- that was MY job.

You ever have one of those days when you wake up on a boat with a headache and a one-eyed dark elf staring at you? And you get a feeling that says, "This day could not possibly get any worse?" Don't trust that feeling. It can ALWAYS get worse.

[hazmick]

You ever have one of those days when you wake up on a boat with a headache and a one-eyed dark elf staring at you? And you get a feeling that says, "This day could not possibly get any worse?" Don't trust that feeling. It can ALWAYS get worse.

Poor Trey has no idea. Hopefully he'll catch a break soon and things might start going his way.

We also learned about Moon Sugar! A valuable lesson for a valuable substance (though as an honorable citizen of the Empire Trey should have nothing to do with it )