Trey In Mournhold, Chapter 2 Options

[mplantinga]

An excellent encounter with the haughty imperial. I wonder if Trey will be seeing him again.

[OverrideB1]

I just managed to catch up with Chapter 2 treydog. All I can say is "wow" ~ and thank you for writing such an excellent story. I look forwards to the next installment...

[treydog]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Wolfie]

Great update Treydog

[Florodine of Hlaalu]

another great addition trey, its always exciting to see another addition

[mplantinga]

Good plot development. I enjoyed your description of Fedris Hler; it certainly made him seem much more complex than I had previously thought.

[Neck' Thall]

nice update trey! Hmmmm....Itruige(or however that is spelled.)...

[minque]

nice update trey!  Hmmmm....Itruige(or however that is spelled.)...

I suppose you wanted to say "Intriguing"? ....because that´s just what it is, learning about how Trey handles the steward of Almalexia......now there has to be an update soon...please!

[Neck' Thall]

Yeah, thanks minque. I give u cake to

[Soulseeker3.0]

yes Intriguing, please keep it up!

[treydog]

Even though I despised the very idea of taking on a “hired killer” mission, I could rationalize that my targets were goblins rather than men or elves. And Fedris Hler hadn’t really ordered me to kill the Altmer trainers- he had merely suggested that it would be a service. If I could remove the goblins and avoid the Altmer, the trainers would no longer have any reason to hang around. Or so I hoped. And I ruthlessly stepped on the nagging inner voice that pointed out that Helseth could easily hire more goblins if the first bunch met with a series of unfortunate accidents. Regardless of my delicate sensibilities, I would perform this task. Perhaps I was afraid to ignore Fedris Hler’s “request.” Perhaps I thought that the Temple steward would be a powerful ally in my search for the Dark Brotherhood. And perhaps it was simpler than that- the goblins had nearly killed me, before I even knew the reason for their presence. Revenge against them would be pleasant. And better still, the loss of his goblin army would thwart Helseth. I had never met him, but the mere fact that he called himself “King” was enough to make me dislike the man. If knowledge of my motives causes anyone to think less of me, I can only say- first, I never claimed nobility of purpose or purity of spirit; and second, it is easy to criticize if you weren’t there.

What I needed to do first was complete my exploration and mapping of the sewers under the Palace. My previous wanderings gave me reason to believe that the goblins were based either there or beneath Godsreach, the other place I had confronted the creatures. And before I ventured back into the sewers, I would need more potions of levitation. The only safe way to hunt goblins was from a place that they could not reach. As I preferred to make my own potions whenever possible, I was going to have to go back to Vvardenfell for the essential ingredients. It was ironic, but the fact that there were no cliff-racers in Mournhold was actually a problem. I knew of three components that could be combined to create levitation potions- coda flowers, trama root, and cliff-racer plumes. And the only place I knew to obtain those items was back on Vvardenfell.

Effe-Tei was kind enough to transport me to Ebonheart, from which place I made my way to the Mages Guild in Vivec. Making use of the Mages Guild guides, I was able to gather the supplies I needed without staying in one location for very long. Throughout my travels, I spoke to no one except the apothecaries and guild guides, and kept the hood of my robe up to hide my face. It was my hope that, even if my enemies were informed of my presence, I would be gone before they could plan and carry out an attack. It was a sobering experience, and I wondered if it might be a foreshadowing of my future- homeless, constantly on the move, never able to settle in one place. On the other hand, if I did not deal with my enemies, my “home” would likely be an unmarked grave beside some deserted path. Thus, even as the sounds and scents of Vvardenfell tempted me to rest, to leave intrigue behind, I knew that I must go back to Mournhold and finish a fight that I had neither started nor sought. The Dark Brotherhood would never stop and neither would the person or power that had set them on my trail. And even if they had been inclined to call truce, I was not. My blood had been spilled and it would be redeemed with blood.

Returning to Asciene Rane in Ebonheart was hard; turning my thoughts back to Mournhold was harder still; but it had to be done. Despite the High Ordinators’ perpetual greeting of “Mournhold, City of Light, City of Magic,” I didn’t see it that way. To me it was a place of darkness, of plots and counterplots, of the Temple and the King scuffling over the most valuable coin in the game- power. Absorbed by such gloomy thoughts, I arrived back in the Palace reception area, where I absently greeted Effe-Tei. As I waited for the disorientation and nausea of the teleportation magic to fade, I briefly considered hiring Calvus Horatius, the mercenary fighter who had offered his services when I first came to the city. Having a good sword at my back during this goblin hunt would be useful- might even save my life. But my reasons for refusing had not changed- I would not take responsibility for another man’s life, or still worse, his death. I was too much in the habit of looking out for myself to find it easy to trust someone else. And I was willing to run away if the situation warranted. A mercenary might succumb to the fury of battle or find himself unable to escape. If that happened, my death would surely follow, for I would not abandon a companion. Better then, to take my chances alone. As a fellow I once knew liked to say about drinking,

“My limit is one- no matter what, I will always be able to count that high.”

And that logic applied to fighting, as well; with no allies, my every blow would strike an enemy.

My alchemy apparatus was undisturbed in the Palace basement, and I was able to quickly convert my ingredients into useful potions. While my various concoctions were simmering, I sorted through the scrolls I had “acquired” from one place and another during my travels. Normally, I prefer not to use scrolls in the middle of a fight- a comfortable chair in front of a nice fire is a better place to practice one’s reading. But…if I was floating out of reach of a snarling goblin, a scroll that called fire down on his head might be just the thing. And the magic from a scroll tended to be much more likely to work than most of my store of memorized spells. The time I had spent learning to skulk in shadows and to not stick myself with the pointy ends of my weapons had prevented me from becoming terribly proficient at Destructive magic. A summoning scroll or two would have been useful, but I hadn’t come across any of those. And ultimately, it was probably going to be down to my skill with the bow and the sword to keep me alive. Potions made and equipment repaired, I could delay my return to the sewers no longer.

Recalling the creatures I had sensed (and avoided) during my last foray into the Palace sewers, I made my way to the central chamber and from there to the west. As before, when I spoke the words “mothaich biừthaidh,” my heightened senses showed me that three possibly hostile creatures awaited me in the unexplored section. While I could hope that they were rats, my sense of smell told me that at least one durzog was about. Fortune favored me, though; for the passage started with a steep stone ramp leading upward. By crouching and sticking to the shadows, I was able to peer over the rise without being seen. Movement alerted me to a patrolling goblin, accompanied by a durzog. I downed one of my newly brewed levitation potions, conjured a magical bow, and then let myself drift up to the roof of the corridor. Neither of my enemies knew I was about until an arrow pierced the durzog’s thick hide. Unfortunately, that first strike seemed to be more annoying than harmful, for the beast gave a great roar of rage and charged toward me. I had a brief span of time to consider whether I had made a serious error- the roof here was not as high as at other places, and I feared that the durzog might be able to scrape me off the ceiling by rearing up on its haunches. That fear, along with the darkness, the sight of a charging creature that seemed to be all teeth and claws, not to mention worrying that my levitation might wear off- all combined to make marksmanship a trifle difficult.

Still, focusing on the durzog’s gaping maw paid dividends- two arrows found their way into that vulnerable spot. It was almost an afterthought to finish the goblin, which had waited too long to decide to run away. At the end of the corridor, a second goblin tried to hide among some massive crates, but his lack of a ranged weapon spelled his doom. With the passage cleared, I was able to come back down to the floor and take a careful look around. The crates were all stenciled with the words “Deliver to the Mournhold Royal Palace.” Interestingly, each address bore the same flaw- the “R” in “Royal” was reversed. Still more telling, each of the crates was perforated by carefully concealed holes. I now knew how the goblins had managed to come into Mournhold without being seen.

[mplantinga]

More introspection for our dear Trey. It is somewhat sad how trapped he is by his situation. I'm glad to see that he seems to be up to the mental challenge that is facing him. Thanks for another great installment, and I look forward to seeing if Trey does manage to avoid the Altmer trainers as he is hoping to do.

[Soulseeker3.0]

wow, very interesting Trey, please continue. Nice expplanation on how the goblins got into Mourhold.

[minque]

Oh my sweet Trey....I wish you all the best on your tour in Mournhold..It´s always a pleasure to find a new Trey up....that is something to cherish..with a nice cup of tea or coffee ..then sit down and read..that makes a hard-working woman really happy....

[treydog]

Behind the crates with their interesting addresses was a door inscribed as leading to “Old Mournhold- West Sewers.” In addition, someone had thoughtfully (and recently) carved a reversed “R” into the doorframe. Even without that guidance, the tracks on the muddy floor would have warned me that there were goblins nearby. And now I had a problem. Or rather a more immediate problem than the usual one of all the factions that wanted to kill me immediately, not to mention all of the others that wanted to use me and THEN kill me afterwards. Opening the heavy door would require me to use both hands. But I was certain that there were goblins on the other side, and I really wanted to have my conjured bow at the ready, which would require at least one hand. Then I remembered one of a thief’s best friends- a potion that would allow me to manipulate objects with the power of my thoughts, leaving my hands free for more important things. I had recently discovered the secret to creating such a potion and had several at my disposal. Suiting my actions to my thoughts, I consumed a potion, refreshed my conjured bow, and then willed the door to open.

Someone had taken care to oil the hinges of the door into the West Sewers; despite its great size, it swung open with no more than a faint stirring of air. And I was equally quiet as I slipped through and scanned the underground passage. A lone goblin was moving away from me, bobbing along in the peculiar hunch-backed gait of his kind. His slow progress gave me ample time to fit an arrow, draw to the fullest extent, aim at the base of his skull, and release. The shot dropped him like a sack of sand and he never made a sound. Muffled goblin noises from around the bend alerted me to the presence of another, so I edged along the wall until I was able to spot a misshapen shadow cast by the flickering torches. My luck still held; this goblin also had his back turned. Again, a single arrow finished the foul creature and I began to think that this would be a simple task. Be warned- such thoughts are a prelude to folly. If ever you believe that things are going remarkably well, you have overlooked or forgotten something important.

In this case, what I had forgotten was that goblins usually travel in packs. As the tunnel opened out, I suddenly realized that there were a great many shapes moving about in the shadows ahead of me. And, more to the point, those shapes had become aware of my presence. As I watched in horror, at least three goblins and a durzog began to run toward me, baying like a pack of wolves on the scent. Perhaps retreating would have been the intelligent thing to do. But I had come here to fight goblins, not to run away from them. Besides sheer bravado, there was another reason to finish this fight here and now- if I managed to escape, it would only be temporary. Eventually, I would have to come back. And I would have to confront goblins that were fully alert, aware that someone was stalking them. I would never again have the element of surprise on my side. For whatever reason, I decided not to run. I gulped a potion of levitation and clawed my way upward. Trusting in the magical brew to keep me suspended, I turned my body until it was parallel with the roof of the passage, hopefully out of reach. What I needed now was a secure place from which to thin the ranks of my foes.

Unfortunately, this particular section of the sewers was remarkably well maintained, with walls and roof intact. And I knew that I had not passed any handy ledges or cornices on my way here. There was nothing else for it- I would have to find a place deeper inside the complex of tunnels. Therefore, I began to move as rapidly as possible toward the goblins. That action surprised them for a few precious seconds and I was able to get past them before they thought to jump for me or throw something. Near a dead end, I saw what I needed- a massive, steep pile of masonry had fallen away from one of the walls. If I could reach that mound and somehow secure myself atop it, I need not worry about the levitation expiring. With the pack in close pursuit, I reached my objective; in the meantime, their hoots and barks had attracted additional goblins. When I at last knelt atop the pile of rubble and hooked one foot over an ancient pipe to hold myself in place, there was a virtual sea of leaping, snarling green bodies raging about the base of my refuge.

My precarious position made it hard to aim, but I knew that if ever I tumbled down into that seething mass, my last seconds of life would be horrible beyond imagining. Despite their constant movement, I was able to discern that most of the goblins who beset me were not the common soldiers I had encountered previously. Several of these creatures were larger and more powerful- they also wore more elaborate harnesses. The worst was one massive specimen who shouted and cuffed the others into some semblance of order, then pulled a scroll from his harness. With the air of a schoolboy called upon to recite a particularly difficult lesson, he began to read from the scroll in a harsh, halting voice. Comical though the performance was, it was also deadly serious, for I recognized the opening syllables of a Firebloom spell. Just before he finished, I was able to dump a fire shield potion over myself, thus rendering me proof against the worst effects of the incendiary spell. The fact that the scroll-reader was in command of this group gave me my first target, and I went to work with my magical bow.

My arrows largely sufficed to prevent any more spell-casting attempts, but those goblins were remarkably hard to kill. The first time my conjured bow expired and disappeared, I did not immediately recast the spell, but instead used my own elemental destruction scrolls. The resultant fire from one and ice from the other finally did for a couple of the goblins and I breathed a bit easier. One of those who dropped was the officer, which probably explained why none of them hit upon the idea of cooperating to bring me down from my perch. All it would have taken would be for a couple of them to boost a third to within reach, and this story would have been finished. Perhaps my constant rain of arrows also had something to do with it- even those that did not penetrate deeply seemed to sting the goblins into an unreasoning fury. Arrows bristling from their torsos and limbs, they thronged my rocky island and howled for my blood. I must have used over a hundred arrows before the last goblin fell and I was able to climb down.

I gave the bodies only a cursory search, enough to show that they were all from the same band as before. Beyond that confirmation there was other evidence of an organized plot- potions of healing, amulets to improve stamina, and even packets of moon-sugar. No wonder these creatures had been so hard to kill- they probably hadn’t even realized that they were being mortally wounded until blood loss stopped them. In addition to the one officer, there were four durzog-handlers and two regular soldiers in the group. Although their equipment might fetch a good price, treasure hunting was not my purpose. Besides, if I lived- the loot would still be here. If I didn’t…well, there was no point in planning for failure. So I left the macabre mound to continue my explorations. Just beyond the pile of rubble where I had made my stand were two doors marked with a corroded bronze plaque proclaiming that the Old Mournhold Battlefield lay just beyond. The irony was not lost on me, although I was in no mood to appreciate it at the time.

[mplantinga]

It's a good thing that goblins are not particularly intelligent, other wise things may not have gone so well for our dear Trey. I do hope he doesn't encounter more than he can handle when he enters the battlefield.

I do hope we haven't worn this one out yet: S.G.M.

[Burnt Sierra]

It's taken me a while, but I just realised the fundamental flaw that exists on this forum. We have so many "must read" stories, that I'm afraid I may have started to take them for granted. So, please accept my most sincere apologies for that, and for my lack of responses for a while. I have avidly read each and every update with glee, in what remains for me one of the best Morrowind stories I have ever read. Different author's obviously have their own unique takes on the Morrowind Universe, yet your portrayal of Trey remains the most thoughtful.

I think what I'm trying to say (very badly) is that the depth you bring to this story continues to astound me, and long may it continue.

[Soulseeker3.0]

veur good Trye, liked the word of thought, very true

Be warned- such thoughts are a prelude to folly. If ever you believe that things are going remarkably well, you have overlooked or forgotten something important.

[treydog]

Though the more primitive side of my nature, still roused to its full fury by the recent fight, urged me to burst through the doors and continue the slaughter, I held back. I had taken no serious wounds, but the battle had cost me the only destructive magicka scrolls I owned, not to mention over half my arrows. Without the advantage of the scrolls, I could not be sure of surviving another such struggle. Worse yet, the goblins I had defeated had been subofficers- the stronger warchiefs were still somewhere ahead. I could back out now and obtain the weapons I needed to continue the fight or I could press on, using what I had. If I left, the goblins would almost certainly discover the bodies I had left strewn about and would therefore know that they were being stalked. But as the battle-madness wore off, reason asserted itself. Surprise was a fleeting thing- an ambush could be turned back on the ambusher if he did not achieve a decisive victory in the first few moments. These last goblins had proved very hard to kill and there was no guarantee that I would find a suitable place to make a stand deeper inside the ruins of the old city. Besides, if someone did discover the corpses, that could work to my advantage. All they would find would be dead goblins, with no sign of who or what had killed them. At first, they would be on alert, patrolling aggressively. As time passed though, the tension would take a toll. And then I could return- rested and re-supplied- ready to take up the fight again at a time and place of MY choosing.

Although I had used up a great many of my arrows, I was still well supplied with potions, so I believed that I could find what I needed in the Great Bazaar. Using my Divine Intervention amulet carried me to the Palace courtyard, from whence I walked to the marketplace of Mournhold. Besides the vendors in open stalls, the Bazaar included half-a-dozen stores, each catering to a different need. Because time was of the essence and because I wanted to have some money left, I avoided the bookseller and went directly to the pawnbroker’s establishment. The proprietor was an Argonian who suffered under the name Ten-Tongues Werehat. After I took a quick glance at the merchandise he had on display, I casually made a Thieves Guild sign and asked,

“Is this everything you have? I was really looking for scrolls.”

The Argonian gave a nervous glance at the oblivious guard and then allowed,

“Every now and then I'll have special bargains on certain items. Just for valued customers like yourself, of course. I'll see if I can make you a deal.”

He then produced three or four scrolls containing the incantation for a spell called “Hellfire.” That was exactly the sort of thing I needed, so I looked them over to ensure that the spells weren’t flawed. When I expressed my interest, Ten-Tongues named a ridiculously low price of 60 drakes per scroll. My normal bargaining sense disappeared and I blurted,

“How can you sell these so cheaply?”

The pawnbroker gave me an offended look and grumbled,

“I don't see why everyone has to assume that just because I'm capable of offering some very good prices on quality merchandise that there's something shady going on! I was just telling Ahnia the other day that...ahh...err, nevermind.”

Ahnia- that name sounded familiar. Then I remembered- remembered stumbling over a black-clad Khajiit in the sewers who had said, “Ahnia does not know you.” After a little persuasion Ten-Tongues admitted,

“Okay, okay. She's a Khajiit. An entrepreneur of sorts. She'll meet me in the sewers beneath here from time to time, and have things for me to sell. I try not to ask too many questions, you know? She carries a pretty sharp knife. So I just do business, like I always do. There's no harm in it, right? It's not like it's hurting anyone.”

That answer satisfied me; I would never interfere with someone who was just trying to make a living. My only concern was that no angry wizard was going to confront me and demand payment for his scrolls. Just to keep up appearances, I strolled through the Bazaar a little longer, stopping in at the armorer to pick up a couple of hundred arrows. At last, I returned to my hiding place beneath the Palace to rest for a day or two. And then it was time to continue my goblin hunt.

All too soon, I once again stood outside the doorway to the Old Mournhold Battlefield. Before entering, I spoke the words of the spell that conjured a magical bow from the Void. Upon slipping through the door, I heard the deep grunting of at least two goblins, but did not see any in the immediate vicinity. The corridor curved to my right and then plunged downward; a quick scan showed two large goblins wandering about. Hoping to isolate one, I extracting a potion of levitation and fired an arrow at the nearest. My plan failed spectacularly- the arrow bounced off of the huge creature’s thick hide and his enraged bellow alerted the other to my presence. They both raced toward me, barking excitedly as they came. I had been prepared for such a possibility, and used the levitation potion I had been holding. The larger goblin countered with a guttural chant, and again I was subjected to the scorching agony of a Firebloom spell. I dodged in time to only catch the edge of the resulting burst of flame; better still, I was out of reach of direct physical attacks. These goblins proved somewhat smarter than their brethren- when they saw that they could not reach me, they ran from the hail of arrows I launched at them. A nerve-wracking game of cat-and-mouse followed- I would wait until the goblins stopped, then lower myself to the floor and shoot at them. Goaded by the arrows (many of which bounced off) and encouraged by the idea that I was within reach, they would race back and attempt to catch me as I bounced back up to the ceiling. Finally, a lucky shot took one of them to his knees and I finished him as quickly as possible with no false notion of chivalry. The other fled- perhaps intent on raising the alarm- but his panicked flight took him into a caved-in tunnel with no exit. With no more mercy than the goblins would have shown me, I cut him down.

With the apparent sentinels removed, I had time to rest and prepare for more exploration. First I cast the Beggars Nose spell to determine how many additional enemies might be present. To my relief, my heightened senses showed only one possible hostile creature, as well as an enchanted item. Before I got carried away, I realized that the enchantment might be something carried by one of the Altmer trainers. For whatever reason, my spell was unable to discern men or elves that might wish me harm. It was worth keeping that fact in mind, particularly here in Mournhold, where the factions and alliances were quite murky. With the utmost caution, I crept through collapsed tunnels. The only worked stone left appeared to be bits and pieces of the destroyed walls of Old Mournhold. The enchantment I had detected turned out to be an axe that had belonged to an unfortunate warrior. His skeletal remains lay beneath a boulder that had not killed him outright, but rather had pinned his legs. How horrible his last hours must have been, unable to free himself, praying for death to bring release from his torment.

As I worked my way deeper through the nightmare maze of collapsed walls, I came across more bones from the combatants in that ancient struggle. Here they lay, names and deeds forgotten, entombed far below a great city that did not even care about the cause for which they had fought. The bones of the coward mingled with those of the hero; sinners and saints were locked in an embrace for all eternity. And I, thief though I was, let them lie. Whatever they had possessed, whoever they had been- now they belonged to death and to history. Overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness, I sent a quiet prayer to the ghosts of those forgotten dead, asking them to strengthen my arm as I carried out my fight against the goblins far underground. Whether they heard, I cannot say. But at least none hindered me.

[Fuzzy Knight]

Great updated again Trey. His adventure in beneath Mournhold is great written, your description of the terrain, goblins etc. makes the story feel more alive and you get that picture in your head that fits straight in...
How Trey experiance seeing the dead warrior that had died is also great and good written. Hope to see more - Keep it up