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The Story of Trey- Chapter 1 |
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| treydog |
Jan 30 2015, 03:35 AM
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Master

Joined: 13-February 05
From: The Smoky Mountains

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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 … MeChant-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."
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The dreams down here aren't broken, nah, they're walkin' with a limp...
The best-dressed newt in Mournhold.
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Replies(20 - 30)
| ArtemisNoir2 |
Feb 14 2015, 07:20 PM
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Retainer
Joined: 28-January 15

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"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." Heh!  I know I'm quoting the same line as Hazmick, but can't help it because I am so viscerally reminded of my own frequent words during a recent darker and more cynical phase... "There's always a good chance it won't get any better, but GUARANTEED it ALWAYS can get worse (and usually will)." Anyway, great chapter and poor Trey, caught between the proverbial boulder and hard place. I also loved that description of the summoned skeleton, and I'd wondered whether you'd depict it as the completely useless spell that it is ingame. I tend to think that Morrowind, Oblivion, and Skyrim all have their positives and negatives, and though ES3 is the one that holds my heartstrings, I'll readily admit that conjuring has become much improved in the two subsequent games.
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| McBadgere |
Feb 15 2015, 11:05 AM
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Councilor

Joined: 21-October 11

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 ...I does very much love this story...  ... So funny...  ... QUOTE 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 true!!..."Just let me find this thing and I'll be off it, dear...Oh wait, can I just...?"...  ... QUOTE Hang on a minute, which one was Step Two- Cast Skeleton Skin, shoot the mage with my dragon, throw a scroll at him? QUOTE ...Giving serious consideration to using the bowstring to hang myself, QUOTE 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.
 Proper amazing episode... Dear Father Christmas, this year - and I promise to be ever so good - could I have the book entitled "How To Write Totes Amazingly" by Mr Trey Dog please?...  ... QUOTE 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? Why yes, I have...But enough about my somewhat blurry late teens/early twenties...  ...
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| treydog |
Feb 18 2015, 05:55 PM
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Master

Joined: 13-February 05
From: The Smoky Mountains

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Well, it's Wednesday, so you all know what that means.... What? NO! Put the hippopotamus DOWN! Down! Honestly. I cannot take you lot anywhere. What it should mean is- time for another... hard to call it an update, since this story is (mumble mumble) years old... "antedate?" Sounds like what you would need after trying one of Trey's early potions... Anyway- story time. Here you go. And thanks so much for reading. @hazmick- Let’s just say his situation will change. Whether the change will be an improvement or not…. As for the whole skooma and moon sugar thing, Trey has rather… particular… feelings about some things. Legality rests lightly upon him- but morality is a different matter. @ArtemisNoir2- I admit I rather love that line, too. Whenever someone in a movie says anything like “What’s the worst that could happen?” Mrs. Treydog and I just look at each other and shake our heads. There are several places where I either point out inconsistencies or incorporate game oddities. That is part of the fun of writing about a game that I love, including all of its flaws. @McBadgere- Sometimes I worried that I was “tearing it,” to use a phrase I heard when Mel Brooks was discussing the “Puttin’ on the Ritz” scene from “Young Frankenstein.” The idea being that one can work so hard for the laugh that the movie is ruined as a result. But Trey is just… really as he is portrayed. My dear McBadgere, having read many of your words, you have no need to write like me or anyone else, excepting your own talented self. And now the truth of the “have you ever had one of those days” line can be revealed. It was based on “The Week of Living Dangerously” by Steve Earle. QUOTE Well I woke up in a county jail 'cross the line in Laredo I had a headache and a deputy staring at me through the door He said, "Now how you got across that river alive, I don't know But your wife just made your bail so now you're really dead for sure" ------------------------------------------ So the Census Office wanted me to go out and track down a murderer. And "bring him to justice," a fancy way of saying "execute him." For some strange reason, I had a sudden desire to roll up some dried, shredded hackle-lo leaf in a tube of paper, light the resulting combination with a torch, and inhale the fumes. I didn't know if it would make me feel any better, but somehow it seemed like the right thing to do. I also wanted to turn my collar up and lurk in dark alleys in the rain, but then, I usually felt like doing that. The sun had set on my first day in Seyda Neen, in Morrowind, and for the first time, I was uncertain. Not confused- I had been confused from the time I got here- but uncertain. Before, I had known what I wanted to do, in general terms, at least. I wanted to gather a reasonable amount of cash, outfit myself as well as the limited merchandise here would allow, and hope to somehow cause the Empire to lose interest in me. So far, I had managed one of the three- I probably had the best outfit money could buy- in Seyda Neen. However, I had managed to keep bringing myself to the attention of the Imperial officials, and to spend any money I acquired. In fact, right after I left the Census Office, I happened upon Vodunius, still moping about, looking like a depressed guar. Remembering Darvame's speculation, I asked Vodunius if he was unhappy in Morrowind. It was then that I got one of the many lessons I was to learn in Vvardenfell. You CAN con a conman, especially if that the conman is a wet-behind-the-ears former stable hand who thinks he knows something about running a game. One key to a successful scam is how well you sell it. You have to get so deep into the story that you believe it yourself. Vodunius was a master. He replied, "Not happy here? No, I'm not. If I had 100 drakes, I'd be on the next boat to Narsis. I came here to make my fortune, and all I've got is this cursed ring. Say. Would you give me 100 drakes for it? The ring itself is worth more than that, but the enchantment is cursed, and no one will buy it from me. It has a nifty little enchantment that helps you run faster. Problem is, it sucks the blood right out of you every time you use it. Please? You'll be doing me a real favor." The tale was a thing of beauty. He had been just casually standing nearby looking pitiful when I came off the boat. But he didn't approach me directly with the pitch; he set Darvame up to show me the bait. Then, knowing that I was far from home, he played on my sympathy- "if only I had the money, I'd leave this miserable place." And the crowning touch, the appeal to greed- "the ring is worth more than that, but it's cursed." Classic. And what's more, everything he said was true. "This ring? Oh, no. You wouldn't want this ring. It's cursed. Of course, it does make you run faster." The hook was set, and he landed me without a struggle. There went almost all of my remaining gold. I would like to say that I was tired and preoccupied with what to do about Ergalla's "offer," but the truth was, I got taken. With hardly a thought, I pocketed the ring and started thinking about where I could sleep. Turned out there were no beds to be had in Seyda Neen. I briefly considered entering one of the houses, but there were just too many guards and citizens around. Then I remembered a cave nearby with a nice campfire already built. And I knew the previous occupants wouldn't have any objection to my moving in. Back in Addamasartus, I settled down to look at the tax rolls and see if that would provide any clues as to who had murdered the tax collector. I hadn't made up my mind what I was going to do about it, but the memory of the body left out there for the crabs haunted me. That, and the fact that whoever did it hadn't bothered to take the money. This was revenge, a crime committed out of hatred rather than for gain. As I scanned the list, I quickly narrowed it down to those who hadn't paid. I didn't think the killer would pay their taxes, then kill Processus and leave the money. The ones who hadn't paid were: Eldafire, Fargoth, Fine-Mouth, Foryn Gilnith, and Vodunius Nuccius. Vodunius- the man I had just given 100 gold so he could leave town? But no, if he was the killer and needed to finance a getaway, he would know right where to find 200 drakes. So not Vodunius. That left four, Eldafire, and three whose names began with "F". I was sure that meant something...but what? Now, if Processus had managed to scratch an "F" in the mud with his dying breath, it would have meant Eldafire did it, because it would really be an "E" that he wasn't able to finish. But, no, he hadn't left any dying messages. As I tried to make sense of it, I seemed to hear a voice say, "Then there was the curious incident of the nix-hound in the night-time...." What? It was time to get out of this cave and do something. I didn't mind it when I heard a voice in my head that made fun of me, but when it assumed an Altmer accent and started giving me advice on solving murders- no thanks. The key to anything is to talk to people. As a thief I knew that there was always somebody watching or listening, even when you believed there was no one around. The other thing that drove me was sitting in that cave, thinking about what had happened to the smugglers. Had they always been indifferent to human life or had they gradually become so corrupt that, finally, slaves were just another form of merchandise? One thing I knew, I would not end my days lurking in some cave like a troll. I needed to create options for myself. The Empire had me over a barrel; I needed to do something to make money. One option was to accept Ergalla's offer and turn hired killer. Another was to keep gathering ingredients and try to get good enough at mixing them to make potions that wouldn't poison people or turn their tongues blue. But that would take time, and when you are 17, you just can't imagine taking a month (or a year!) to do something. But wait, when I first talked to Arrille, he mentioned somebody named Hrisskar who had had a run of bad luck gambling. How I could turn a profit from someone who was supposedly broke, I didn't know, but it wouldn't hurt to talk to the guy. With that, I left the cave and its ghosts behind. The past was past; I needed to ensure my future. This post has been edited by treydog: Feb 24 2015, 09:46 PM
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The dreams down here aren't broken, nah, they're walkin' with a limp...
The best-dressed newt in Mournhold.
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| McBadgere |
Feb 19 2015, 10:14 PM
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Councilor

Joined: 21-October 11

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QUOTE(treydog @ Feb 18 2015, 04:55 PM)  My dear McBadgere, having read many of your words, you have no need to write like me or anyone else, excepting your own talented self.
Bless you and your never ending words of encouragement, even in the face of that which gets shoved under yer nose to read...  ... What I mean is...The ease with which you take Trey and spin this completely awesome tale from simple game situations is nothing short of awesome... I mean, yeah, later on you say you start to add your own stuff in...And then we get to BOTM and Athlain, Athynae and the supporting players... But here, you've got Trey, and he does stuff...All of it exciting, yet still full of descriptions of the places, events and those he meets...And it's all there, and funny and... Interesting... We're...What, six episodes in or whathaveyou...And he's done tonnes in one day... Now me, I'd still be on the sea, having decided that my character somehow managed to wake up during it...And then - because I think these things are likely to happen - there'd be a Pirate adventure happening...Likely captured by a ship crewed by Dwemer constructs - "Parrot" included - and the Captain would be a 10,000 year old, two-headed Centurion called - because you know me, like to mess with Elder Scrolls nomclature just a bit - Dave...Er...Hang on... *Thinks*... *Makes notes*... And, the thing is...You know damn well that this isn't beyond the realms of possibility, doncha?...  ... That's my point...I wish I could keep these things together and straightforward and amazing, like you do... Anyways, to this one... D'you know...Didn't like it...*Sniff*...  ...  ... NARF!!... Loved it!!!..  ... Brilliant stuff, so funny... Loved that he got taken in by the Elf and his patois...(Eh?! Eh?!  )... And then that Sherlock bit at the end made me laugh...Again... Fantastic story... Nice one!!... *Applauds heartily*...
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| treydog |
Feb 24 2015, 10:06 PM
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Master

Joined: 13-February 05
From: The Smoky Mountains

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@hazmick- The taxman’s money is one of those situations where one bad decision has caused Trey to have to make a series of even more unpalatable choices…. But he hopes that repaying it will remove the Imperial scrutiny. We shall see how that works out for him…
@McBadgere- In truth, I was afraid to embellish very much… and it took me quite a few runs at the game before I even “found” Processus’ body. Most all my characters went into Addamasartus, where there is a pool with a skeleton and a fishing rod… I got the idea that this was the unfortunate tax-collector… As to the descriptions- Morrowind, even with a low-end graphics card and no mods running- was a truly beautiful and amazing place. Therefore, the setting became a character in its own right. Add to that the fact that I wanted to view it through Trey’s eyes- and he had never been there before… I am beyond pleased that it works for you.
Pirates? Hmmm… let me just make a few notes of my own here… Who me? Nothing. Why do you ask?
And as to his… criminal tendencies… those are perhaps more in his mind than in the world of reality. And he is (like his scribe) much wiser in hindsight. And that “nix-hound in the night time” was just one of those bits that wrote itself, as I was musing on all the convoluted clues from the (far too many) detective stories I have read.
And now we come to the end of the first chapter. I will take that cheering and applause as a sign of approval, rather than relief….
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Back in town I spoke to a couple of citizens and even a guard about the murder of Processus. Normally, I avoid guards whenever possible, but there were so many of them in such a small town, I couldn't ignore them forever without it seeming suspicious. They all had pretty much the same story- that the murder wasn't surprising; Processus wore fancy clothes and jewels while squeezing the common folk for more and more tax money. They also mentioned that he had been seeing Thavere over at the lighthouse; she was the only one who could stand him. By then, I was outside the tradehouse; time to see what this Hrisskar fellow could do for me. Have you ever been confronted with a dog that doesn't wag its tail and doesn't growl- it just looks at you like it wonders how you're going to taste? That was the feeling I got when I walked into the tavern upstairs and first saw Hrisskar Flat-Foot. He was a big man, a Nord with a forked beard, wearing full armor and carrying a shield in a tavern, in the middle of Last Seed. Beside him was Raflod the Braggart, who might as well have been wearing a sign that said, "idiot sidekick." The two of them seemed enough to fill the room, but there were others, as well- an Imperial, a Dunmer, and a Redguard woman who appeared to be tending the bar. All conversation stopped as I reached the top of the stairs, and five pairs of eyes weighed and measured me. I had the feeling that they had just accurately calculated the value of everything I had to within the nearest quarter-gold. Had I been older and more experienced, I would have ordered a drink and left, or perhaps made some excuse about, "Sorry, wrong turn, looking for the privy." But I was young and broke and in a strange town on a strange island, so I walked up to Hrisskar and asked if he had a line on a job.
He put an arm around my shoulders and said, "You look like you could use a friend, outlander. Perhaps I could be your friend. You can help me recover some gold."
The way he said "friend" made me think of a wolf asking a lamb to come over for dinner. Instead of refusing, I decided to at least see what it was about, so I said, "I'm listening."
It turned out that Fargoth wasn't joking about being shaken down; Hrisskar and his buddies ran the local "protection" racket. For those who don't know, it works like this- if you pay, nothing bad happens. But if you don't, your house catches fire or you get mysteriously beaten up in an alley. Hrisskar had hit a bad streak gambling and had also gotten the idea that some of his "clients," Fargoth in particular, were holding out on him. He wanted me to sneak to the top of the lighthouse and see where Fargoth went as he crept around town at night. If I could find Fargoth's gold, Hrisskar was willing to share. Fearing for my health if I refused, I said I would help, just so I could get out of there with a whole skin.
Back out in the humid night air, I felt like diving into the ocean to wash off the unclean feeling I had from just talking to that guy. Here he was, hanging out in the tavern with a room full of tough guys, but he wanted me to do his dirty work. And all because he was a bad gambler. Lose money? No problem- just put the squeeze on some poor thief- who was he going to complain to?
It wasn't so much that I felt sorry for Fargoth as that I really dislike crooked guards. Everyone else has to choose a side and take their chances- these guys tried to have it both ways. They got to collect their pay, plus what they could skim off the taxes, plus whatever they could collect from those of us who couldn't exactly explain our sources of income. Then, to top it off, they just hung out in the tavern, drinking for free- remember, I had worked at an inn, so I knew all about these people. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't anyone's idea of a knight in shining armor, but at least I worked for what I got and didn't ask anyone else to take the risks for me.
All paths seemed to lead to the lighthouse; there was probably some deeper meaning there, but all I wanted was to get through this mess and out of town. I would talk to Thavere and then go on to the top of the lighthouse. Maybe I could see a way out from up there. Anyway, the view would have to be worth seeing.
Thavere's place was painfully clean and sparsely furnished; if Processus had been keeping some of the tax money, he sure wasn't sharing it. She was as nice as my sources had said, really broken up about the murder, and surprised because Processus hardly ever got angry. When I asked about that "hardly ever," she explained that it wasn't so much that he got angry as that she had heard him in a heated argument with Foryn Gilnith over taxes. And she asked me to bring her Processus' ring if I found it- she had given it to him and would like to have it back. Foryn had been one of my three suspects- but I decided I really didn't want to confront him at night. After all, if he had killed once, he wouldn't hesitate to do so again.
Working my way up the steps of the lighthouse, I found an interesting book called The Wraith's Wedding Dowry under a bench on the top floor. I had always been mad for books, and decided this one would be good company while I waited to see what Fargoth would do. As I stood on the platform it seemed that for such a small place, Seyda Neen sure was active late at night. The guards I could understand; they were supposed to be moving around, checking on things. But it appeared that half the town was out there wandering back and forth. They didn't talk to each other, just kept circulating. I waited to see if there was some kind of event or attraction that everyone was going to, but no, they just seemed unable or unwilling to sleep. Maybe everyone was having bad dreams- I had certainly had one on the boat trip over. After hours of forcing myself to stay awake, I saw Fargoth put out his torch, wade into a tide pool, and put something into an old stump. He then looked around and crept away, every move he made screaming, "Look at me! I'm up to something!" Finally able to sleep, I slipped inside the lighthouse and rested on the bench at the head of the steps until dawn. With the sunrise came certainty- I knew what I was going to do about Fargoth's hiding place and about the murder.
It was the morning of my second day in Seyda Neen, and I was preparing to leave. There were just a few things I had to take care of before I embarked upon the next stage of my new life. Before leaving the lighthouse, I prepared two notes, using some paper I had "borrowed" from the Census and Excise Office and a bit of charcoal. Satisfied with the results, I climbed down the steps, said a polite, "Good day," to Thavere, and stepped out into the new morning.
First, I waded out into the tide pool and examined the stump I had seen Fargoth near. Sure enough, it contained his ring, a lock pick, and 300 septims. I casually removed the lock pick and replaced it with the first note, the one that said, "Find a better hiding place." If Hrisskar wanted to shake people down, he could come out of the tavern and do it himself. I may have been a thief, but I worked for myself.
Next, I walked up to Foryn Gilnith's shack. It was a poorly-built structure, sitting on the mud-flat barely above the high tide line. Not certain how the conversation was going to go, I loosened my sword in its sheath, but didn't draw it. With a prayer to Kynareth, I opened the door.
The interior wasn't much better than the outside- a hammock for sleeping, a few cheap furnishings scattered over the dirt floor. How Processus could have justified trying to charge this poor Dunmer 225 septims in taxes was beyond me. Gilnith was home; he didn't seem all that surprised to see me, although it was hard to tell with that black tattoo across his face. When I asked him about the murder, he confessed immediately- Processus was skimming; he was constantly flaunting his flashy clothes and jewels. The unfairness finally got to be too much. When he asked me what I was going to do about it, I took a deep breath, and said,
"Murder is wrong, although he certainly seems to have provoked you. However, it isn't up to me to turn you in."
Gilnith seemed somewhat surprised by my response; he said the entire Census and Excise Office was corrupt. Then he pulled out Processus' ring and gruffly said,
"Take this to his woman. She's not to blame for this."
Taking the ring, I left quickly. Maybe I didn't much like Gilnith; I certainly didn't like his way of solving a problem. But I wasn't going to be anyone's hired sword, particularly not the Empire's. I had killed in the smuggler's cave and had no doubt that I would have to kill again. I might even profit from it. But I would not take money just for the purpose of killing someone the Empire decided was "undesirable." After all, I was an "undesirable" myself.
My step lighter than it had been since I arrived, I went to see Thavere and return the ring. She didn't ask how I came to have it, and I didn't say. She was so happy to get it back that she gave me two restore health potions. I thanked her and wished her well. My next stop was Arrille's to get rid of Vodunius ring. As expected, I got less than the 100 drakes I had paid; I considered the difference tuition for a graduate course in How Not to be Gullible. I gave an imaginary salute to Vodunius; I hoped he was doing well wherever he had landed.
With some of my remaining funds, I purchased a couple of armorer's hammers; my gear had seen some use and I didn't know how long it would be before I could find an armorer. And now, it was time to leave. Ergalla and Hrisskar were going to wait a long time if they expected me to dispense their idea of "justice."
There was one last stop to make before I left- the Census and Excise warehouse. Waiting until no one was around, I spelled open the lock and slipped inside. I carefully searched all the crates and sacks, finding the usual assortment of weapons, armor, and ingredients. Finally, in a dark corner, I turned up what I had halfway expected- several crates containing packet after packet of moon sugar and two vials of skooma. I left everything just as I found it, except for adding a note, one that read, "I know. And I will be watching."
With that, I shook the mud of Seyda Neen and the stench of Imperial corruption from my boots and started walking north.
Here Ends Chapter 1
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The dreams down here aren't broken, nah, they're walkin' with a limp...
The best-dressed newt in Mournhold.
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| hazmick |
Feb 24 2015, 11:03 PM
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Mouth

Joined: 28-July 10
From: North

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ah well played. Loved the way you brought all of the quests together to finish up, and adding a pinch of Trey cunning to each situation. You do a great job of fleshing the characters out, and as I've previously mentioned you manage to keep to the original dialogue while doing so without it sounding wooden. Here ends chapter one. Thus I shall await chapter two eagerly. *hearty, approving applause* 
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"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world."
"...a quotation is a handy thing to have about, saving one the trouble of thinking for oneself, always a laborious business."
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| McBadgere |
Feb 26 2015, 02:39 PM
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Councilor

Joined: 21-October 11

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 ...Oi!!...Get yer own catchphrase!!!...  ... Fair dues...Loved this last bit hugely... I thought the way that he completely didn't do anything anyone expected whilst warning everyone involved was awesome!!...I think that's what I mean...Though, at this point, I can't be sure... Aaaamywho...Awesome story!!...Loved it all...Especially the lighthouse...I do love a good lighthouse...  ...That one at Anvil, I was forever going up...  ... Oh!...That bit where it says about everyone milling about...I'm assuming that's a sly nudge towards the game mechanincs?...  ... Anyways, excellent stuff!!...Loved it!!... Nice one!!... *Applauds heartily*...  ...
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| treydog |
Mar 1 2015, 05:33 AM
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Master

Joined: 13-February 05
From: The Smoky Mountains

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@hazmick- Those situations- robbing Fargoth and executing Gilnith- were two places where Trey the character asserted his own ideas about what he would and would not do. The determination to not be a “hired sword” was something he got pretty insistent about…,
@McBadgere- Despite the fact that Trey tends to complain- frequently- it is here that we first see his ingrained values being formed. And also his delight in subverting the dictates of “authority.” As I recall- and it has been MANY years- the note to Fargoth was a notion that caused the second note, which was a result of actually finding moon sugar in a crate in the Census and Excise building. And yes- for someone who was used to games in which one arrived at the “sweet spot” and the quest was done- the mission to discover Fargoth’s stash was frustrating. And his remarks about everyone in the tiny village wandering around most of the night was indeed a dig at game mechanics. Most of the people have houses- they apparently just cannot work the doors… All that said, with a good graphics card, and especially with a graphic enhancing mod- the view from the lighthouse is quite wonderful.
@Grits- Thank you so much for coming with me on this journey down memory lane. As I noted before, whatever my original reason for not reposting when the Fan Forge disappeared- well, let’s just use Athynae’s favorite word and say it was stupid. My thanks to the folks who kick-started me to put the missing chapters back.
All- In keeping with the original, I will begin a new thread for Chapter 2. That may not be “necessary” any longer, but it is… tradition. (Cue “Fiddler on the Roof” music). And thank you so much for reading.
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The dreams down here aren't broken, nah, they're walkin' with a limp...
The best-dressed newt in Mournhold.
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