Trey In Mournhold, Chapter 1 Options

[Dantrag]

Aweseome job, Trey!

My favorite quote from that update -

"Their criticism of that fashion statement was likely to be pointed…and permanent."

[Neck' Thall]

Hey Treydog, i was readin an Ashlanders tale and i was wondering if youhave ever read the 1632 sieries by Eric Flint?

Did u get HAAAKE PAAALE from there.

[treydog]

The first step would be to have a talk with the bartender, who should be able to point out any known problems. That individual turned out to be a Khajiit named Ra’Tesh, and he confirmed my instincts when he indicated a gaudily dressed Dunmer at the end of the bar. Tipping an ear in that direction, the giant cat said,

“Whatever you do, don’t get into a game of shells with Galms Seles. He’s a hustler who just moved here from Vvardenfell. He thinks he can outrun his reputation, but a friend in Sadrith Mora tipped me off. I wish he would leave- he’s putting a damper on the action.”

Thanking Ra’Tesh, I made my way to the dark elf who stood at a table idly shuffling several pieces of mudcrab shell. As soon as he saw me watching, he went into his pitch-

“Seles is the name, shells the game. I will place a coin under one of these shells and all you have to do to double your money is keep an eye on the shell. Ready to try your luck?”

I had heard better patter, but I was sure there was nothing wrong with his sleight-of-hand. The trick was simple- while appearing to place the coin under a shell he would palm it. Then, after my pick turned out to be “wrong” he would flip a different shell, “revealing the coin. There were a couple of ways to handle this, and I decided to use the one that would be most effective- and most likely to get me noticed. So I laid down a fifty-drake piece and said,

“Let’s go.”

The hustler’s eyes bulged when he saw the size of the wager, but he recovered and started his routine, shuffling the shells and intoning,

“Round and round they go. Keep your eye on that little coin, Sera.”

Finally, he stopped his passes and lifted his hands.

“Now, my fine Breton, tell me where that coin is hiding.”

Unable to resist a bit of showmanship myself, I made a great production of the choice, hesitantly reaching toward one shell then another, muttering to myself, “This one. No… wait- that one. Oh dear.”

I kept at it until I calculated that his annoyance was almost equal to his greed, then said brightly,

“I know! I’ll use my lucky sword!”

With that I drew my sword and laid the blade across the middle shell, tip pointed toward Seles stomach. Maintaining a grip on the hilt with one hand, I quickly flipped over the left and right shells, revealing- surprise- no coin. Maintaining my air of false cheerfulness, I gestured broadly and chirped,

“Well, if it isn’t under either of those, it MUST be under this one. We don’t really even need to look, do we? After all, my lucky sword never fails.”

Just to add emphasis, I wiggled the sword slightly. Sweat breaking out on his forehead, Seles managed a trick I HADN’T seen before- he proved that a Dark Elf could turn pale. Knowing that I was onto his hustle, he swallowed and said,

“Look, friend, I’m just trying to make a living here. No need to start pulling swords. If you’ll let me stay, I promise to run a square game from now on.”

I guessed that his promise was good for a few weeks at best, but it was enough for me. Besides, as he said, a man had to make a living. So I sheathed the sword and said,

“It’s a deal.” Then I added, “Oh, you might want this, though,” and flipped him the coin purse I had lifted from his pocket while he was staring at the sword.

Ra’Tesh thanked me for dealing with the gambler, and then asked if I had seen a Bosmer named High-Pockets around. He’d had a little trouble earlier with a Nord and hadn’t been back since. The little Wood Elf wasn’t really a friend, but he was a regular, and Ra’Tesh couldn’t make any money if he lost customers. The description fit a fellow I had seen pacing up and down on the walk outside, so I promised to have a look. A glance out the front door confirmed that the Bosmer was still there, still pacing and muttering threats. I called out,

“High-Pockets? Are you going to come in? Or are you just going to wear a trench into the cobbles?”

He broke off his muttering to glare at me then said,

“If I come in, it will be to deal with that clay-brained Nord! I swear I will have my revenge on that ignoramus!”

When I asked what Nord he meant, the little elf exclaimed,

“Holmar! I was minding my own business when that drunkard starting taunting me and then threw me the length of the bar. Then he picked me up and tossed me into the street. I’m going to pay him back. Say, you wouldn’t want to help me, would you?”

When I promised to take care of the problem, High-Pockets was all smiles. He followed me inside and peeked around me as I found Holmar, who was weaving from an excess of celebration and shouting for another drink. He rolled a blood-shot eye at the Bosmer and grumbled,

“Isn’t this the blasted Wood Elf I jus’ tossed out of here? Back for another round are you? So once wasn’t enough, you little tree frog? Come on, I’ll take you and your Breton friend, too.”

Having dealt with Nords before, I knew of two things that would NOT work: telling him to sober up would just make him mad and fighting him was a good way to get hurt. But as I watched him swaying gently back and forth, I thought of a third possibility.

“Say Holmar, why don’t I buy you a drink or five? You like kind of thirsty.”

After only two brimming flagons of sujamma, the Nord was snoring on a table. It was as easy as…well, as easy as getting a Nord to drink himself unconscious. High-Pockets was so pleased that he gave me 250 drakes and a magic ring. Then he laughed maniacally and said,

“Now for my revenge!”

I was afraid he was going to hurt the sleeping giant, but quickly saw that such was not his intention. The flowers he wove into Holmar’s hair were a nice touch, and replacing his sword with a whisk broom was clever, but I really thought the pink skirt was a bit much.

[Dantrag]

Hey Treydog, i was readin an Ashlanders tale and i was wondering if youhave ever read the 1632 sieries by Eric Flint?

Did u get HAAAKE PAAALE  from there.

that's jonajosa's story - not trey's.

LOL that bar's like a college dorm! Get people drunk and play pranks on 'em!

Good update, as always

This post has been edited by Dantrag: Aug 11 2005, 02:24 PM

[Kell-Reevor]

Very nice as usaul.

Thats all I got....

Oh yeah! That thing about the Dunmer turning pale... funny!

God I suck at replies, sorry Trey.

[Soulseeker3.0]

I was afraid he was going to hurt the sleeping giant, but quickly saw that such was not his intention.  The flowers he wove into Holmar’s hair were a nice touch, and replacing his sword with a whisk broom was clever, but I really thought the pink skirt was a bit much.

heh that sounds fun, i should do that to somebody once...


grat update trey

This post has been edited by Soulseeker3.0: Aug 11 2005, 05:26 PM

[Wolfie]

Great update Trey

[minque]

Ah treydog! Such a funny part this was.......you really describe the small quests with feeling and add a lot of details...juust awesome you know!


Oh and a memorable quote:

Unable to resist a bit of showmanship myself, I made a great production of the choice, hesitantly reaching toward one shell then another, muttering to myself, “This one. No… wait- that one. Oh dear.”

I can just see him in front of me sweet Trey..reasoning with himself..well aware that the gambler tries to fool him....

[BobV]

Great as always.

[Burnt Sierra]

After a period where the three giants slumbered, aka yourself, Minque and Override, you all come back and post at the same time, which neatly coincided with work being a pain. Thank the deity for weekends, I get to catch up on my fanfic dosage. My face when I saw Trey had returned must have been a glowing picture of delight. I'm not sure, but there may even have been a squeal. Your trademark mix of rich detail, thoughtfulness and humour remains unsurpassed, and the knowledge that this story has many more installments to go will keep me happy as the summer passes into winter. I won't say it'll keep me warm, I'll let the brandy do that, but this makes the perfect companion. A "hurrah" might well be in order.

[Zelda_Zealot]

ARGH!! I missed it! Oh well... Great update, I almost burst out laughing several times. I really loved the scene with Seles.

[Kiln]

Hehe...that had an unusual amount of humor in the last part of it...I also liked how you solved Seles' gambling trick. Very nice.

[Lucidarius]

Great writing as always, Treydog. There are so many fan fic stories to read that I didn't comment your Tribunal story yet, sorry. I really liked the introduction to 'Trey in Mournhold' and as others have already said the humor in this latest update in the bar. Looking forward to a good, long read together with all the other writers this fall and winter.

[treydog]

Disengaging myself from the laughing High-Pockets as graciously as I could, I continued to check on the patrons. Everything seemed to be going smoothly- a couple of taciturn Redguards were drinking quietly and not causing any problems. As I started up the stairs to tell Hession that all was well, a brown-robed Bosmer blundered into me and exhaled his alcohol-laden breath up into my face. As I made to step around him, he clutched my sleeve and slurred,

“Where’d you think yer going, Breton? Just like you to push people aroun’ and then try to run when they stand up for themselves. Ought to ship the whole lot of you back to… back to… that place, got a name, sounds like ‘dye socks’… back to that place where you came from.”

Aware of Hession glaring at the confrontation, I kept my hand away from my sword and tried to reason with the obnoxious little elf.

“Sera, I think perhaps you have had enough to drink. You should probably go home now.”

By way of an answer, he belched still more matze-tinged breath into my face and sneered,

“Yeah? And who’s going to make me, Blondie? Nobody tells Denegor when he’s had enough. ‘s a nice bar and I’m staying. Why don’ YOU leave?”

With that last, he shoved me in the chest and stood back with an expectant smirk. I firmly stepped on my anger at being pushed, again reminding myself that this was a quality establishment, not a bucket of blood like the Razor Hole back in Balmora. Besides that, it wouldn’t do for me to get involved in a very public killing on my first day in Mournhold. Not only would such an event annoy my employer, it would also mean answering questions from the authorities. With more restraint than I was accustomed to, I said,

“Sera, if you won’t leave quietly, I will have to use force.”

Apparently, that was just what Denegor had been waiting to hear; suddenly appearing much more sober, the elf unleashed a rain of punches at my head and midsection. I was momentarily stunned- despite their irritating personalities, Bosmer are not generally violent, at least not in a face-to-face way. It was rather like being savaged by a duck. However, a punch that connected with my sensitive nose woke me from my amazement and I began to fight back. Unfortunately, my ability with a blade was not matched by any skill at brawling. Perhaps it was due to the contempt I had felt for my “foster father,” a man who was always quick with his fists, perhaps because of my still-naïve notions of “chivalry,” but I had always seen hand-to-hand combat as decidedly lower-class. Such snobbery from a stable hand may be comical, but one will find superiority, including imaginary superiority, where he can, even if it isn’t logical.

As I began attempting to defend myself, it became clear that there was more at work here than my relative inexperience in unarmed combat. I noticed that Denegor bore the telltale scars around the eyebrows and puffiness of the ears that revealed a seasoned tavern brawler. More disconcerting was the power his punches carried, far more than might be expected from an elf of such small stature. At first, I tried to stay on the defense, absorbing his blows on my arms and keeping my head out of the way. I had some vague hope that he would tire quickly and that perhaps the alcohol he had drunk would also slow him down. The only things that plan gained me were bruised arms and a blacked eye when I wasn’t able to slip a punch fast enough. Clearly, I was going to have to hit back- even if he couldn’t knock me out, the longer I let the Bosmer pummel me, the worse it would look. After all, no one wants to admit that they were beaten up by a wood elf. Therefore, I began to respond in earnest. My longer reach helped as I kept a constant barrage of left jabs flicking at his face, forcing him to stay back. Too, I think my speed surprised him- he expected someone of my size to be more like a Nord- all muscle and no finesse. The problem was, he was still a better fighter, landing 2 or 3 punches for each one I got in. If it continued this way, there was a very good chance he would manage a lucky shot that would put me down. And if that happened, I might as well go back to Vvardenfell- no one would take me seriously if I lost a simple bar fight. Thinking about Nords put me in mind of my other advantage- weight. Many a Nord won fights not through superior skill at punching, but by grappling.

Again protecting my head, I began to force the Bosmer back toward a corner, using my body as a ram. Once I had him against the wall, I managed to get a couple of solid punches into his stomach. As he gasped for air, I threw my arms around him and drove us both to the floor, making sure I landed solidly on top of him. With his arms still pinned between us, I freed one of my hands and grasped his hair, slamming his head into the floor several times. Brutal it might have been, but it was a better alternative than killing him. When he at last fell unconscious, I stood up and gingerly felt my face. For a wonder, I still had all my teeth and my nose wasn’t broken. Hession, who had largely ignored the brawl while it was happening, rushed up and said,

“Wonderful. You handled things as well as Grub would have. Here is your payment.”

The 1000 drakes went a long way towards soothing my bruises, enough that I didn’t ask why she hadn’t whacked Denegor over the head from behind. Still, I had to wonder what I had really accomplished. I had stopped a gambling cheat, gotten one drunk to drink himself into a stupor, and pummeled another. And none of that got me any closer to my goal of finding the Dark Brotherhood or the person who had hired them.

As I nursed my bruises at the bar, holding a piece of chilled nix-hound meat against my tender eye, I happened to see a cheaply printed broadsheet emblazoned with the title “The Common Tongue.” Avid as always for the printed word, I picked up the paper and began to read. One article in particular was of interest- bearing the title “Mysteries of the West,” it discussed the deaths of three people. The reason these particular deaths were of interest was what they had in common- all three were ruled to be from “natural causes” and all three of the people had been “inconvenient” for one Prince Helseth, formerly of High Rock and now King of Morrowind. The clear implication was that the King had been instrumental in “removing” these obstacles to his quest for power. Curious, I asked Ra’Tesh about the broadsheet and its contents, upon which he shook his head violently.

“It is nothing Ra’Tesh knows about. Someone leaves it here on Ra’Tesh’s bar, but it does not belong to him.”

As for Helseth, all he would say was,

“Helseth is the new king. Long live the king,” in a mechanical voice.

I put away the broadsheet and replaced it with some gold. Sweeping the coins into his pocket, the Khajiit admitted that he had “heard things.” Among the things he had heard was that some people were curious about the death of the old king- Athyn Llethan. Although he was an old man, he was healthy- it just seemed odd that he had died so soon after Helseth arrived in Mournhold. Then there was the question of Talen Vandas, Llethan’s nephew and heir. Everyone had assumed that he would be the next king, until his fatal accident. All of this was very interesting- assuming one was interested in high-level gossip and court intrigue. Given the fact that I intended to stay as far away from such things as possible, it appeared to me to be no more than the usual rumblings of discontent. While I sent my best wishes to anyone who wanted to make life miserable for the Empire and its petty kings, I had no desire to get involved. The games of kings had nothing to do with me.

[Konji]

WOOOO, UPDATE!

Yes, that's just how intellectual I become after seeing you post here.

It was rather like being savaged by a duck.

Bootiful. Tears of laughter.

This post has been edited by Konradude: Aug 18 2005, 11:56 PM

[Neck' Thall]

Hey that happened to me once...the duck thing not the Bosmer...He almost but my oinky off.

[Kiln]

Very nice Trey...I liked how you dealt with the elf, I'm very amused with your story, update soon.

[BobV]

Being savaged by a duck, what's odd about that? *Suddently remembers that not everyone present is Dutch*

[Soulseeker3.0]

HA HA HA a duck lol that really hit home(ish) becuse I just finished watching the pacifier with a duck that acts like a guard dog hilarious

[Lucidarius]

The fight with the Bosmer was well written and detailed. I especially liked the reasoning of Trey thinking about his opponent, his own poor h2h skill, and why he had to stick to it.