Locke's Journal, Or: The Ramblings of a Dunmer Criminal Options

[BobV]

I am Locke, a man of the Dunmer race, or a Dark Elf as anyone without dark skin and pointy ears would say. The goal of this journal is to serve as a chronicle of my exile to Vvardenfell- and to perhaps provide those who would engage in various acts of unlawful nature with bits of advice and experience.

Thrown into the Imperial Prison for stealing everything that wasn't nailed down or on fire wherever I happened to be, my punishment was, after a month of waiting, a lifetime exile to the island of Vvardenfell. Vvardenfell was, to my luck, not a desolate prison island. It was, however, a hellhole filled with danger. And opportunity, to people with the wits to seize it... I like to count myself amongst them.

The boat ride to Vvardenfell was pleasant enough... I spent most of the time sleeping in the hold, and unlike what most people think, I find the rolling of a ship to be quite comfortable for one seeking to sleep. The constant creaking, on the other hand, is a bit less comfortable, but I digress.

I arrived at the small port town of Seyda Neen at dawn. A typical seaside hamlet, it reeked strongly of fish. It is a mix of stone cottages and fisherman's huts, with the Imperial Census Office and Arrile's tradehouse being the only two-story buildings. As I gazed about the town, a scruffy little bosmer bumped into me, seemingly engrossed in searching for something.

"Excuse me, sir" , the Bosmer began in that voice all Bosmer seem to have, and which I greatly hate "I've lost my ring...have you seen it? An engraved ring of healing, it's an uh...family heirloom of mine."

In fact, this ring that the wood elf spoke of was amongst the many other unguarded valuables I had liberated from the Imperial Census Office. It was a minor magical bauble and I had intended to keep it for a while. However, despite his nondescript and somewhat annoying appearance I had a feeling he might be of use to me, and I have learned a long time ago to look past appearances. Therefore, I took the ring out of one of the bags I had filled with my findings and handed it to the bosmer, who took it and began to do a little dance, until I cleared my throat, returning his attention towards me.

"Thank you, thank you!" , the wood elf began, excited. "You're now my favorite friend! Name's Fargoth, by the way. I'll be sure to tell my friend Arrille, who runs the tradehouse around here. Uh, what's your name?"

I then realized a cover identity would be useful, and that getting in good with the local merchant would be just as useful.

"Veldur Sedrani" , I replied. Fargoth nodded and ran off into the Tradehouse, from which he returned moments later, giving me a sly wink. I walked into the local Tradehouse, and was politely greeted by the owner, one of the High Elves.

"You're the one who helped Fargoth, aren't you? Veldur Sedrani, I presume. I am Arrile, owner of Arrile's Tradehouse. I barter for goods or coin. Can I interest you in anything of my inventory?"

I was able to make a deal for a suit of armor made out of the shell of something, lacking greaves, a shortbow made of the same material, a quiver of iron arrows, dual steel wakizashis, and some tools of the trade in exchange for the silverware I had stolen from the office and the money I had acquired or had been granted as a bit of aid in getting a new life... Or rather, resuming my old life of crime.

Thus equipped, I decided to get acquantainced with more of the locals, and headed upstairs to the bar. A burly nord in Imperial Legion armor, with some local alcoholic drink on his breath, motioned me closer.

"I 'ear ye are a friend o' Fargoth." , the Nord began. News seemed to travel fast in these parts. "Tha's good, aye it is. Ye fancy makin' yeself a bit o' coin?"

When I confirmed this, the nord continued. "Grea'. Ye see, I 'ad a bit o' bad luck playen' noine-holes, an' I'm in a bit o' debt with Ganciele. Usually o'd be able t'afferd it oot'o' tha money th' locals pay us fer...pretection...but some o' de buggers be holdin' oot on me, 'specially tha' wee cur Fargeth. I know 'e be hidin' 'is money some'ere, bu' I done searched 'is 'ole cottage an' dinna found nothing. I think 'e is hidin' it summere aroond town. Wait ye till night falls, aye, and take ye position on top o' th' Lighthouse, where ye gots a great view on things. Observe Fargeth frem there, watch 'is movements, an' when ye've found his spot, take ye th' stash. Bring th' money ta me - I'll be lettin' ye keep a third o' et, an' wha'e'er else ye may find. Be we 'avin' a deal, Veldur?"

"Yes, we have..." , I replied. Already I had formed the plan to doublecross the nord and just keeping the whole of it. I then engaged in conversation with two scouts- one was a female redguard, Elone, who gave me directions to nearby settlements. Another one, a nord called Raflod - Raflod the Braggart, the locals call him - told me that this area, the Bitter Coast, is a haven for smugglers due to its many secluded coves, caverns, and bays. He also told me that there is an interesting establishment in the town of Suran, called the House of Earthly Delights, that I should visit whenever I'm there. It sounds promising , and I think I know just what sort of establishment it is. This whole Suran sounds like a suitable town for me to commit 'business' - though my destination is Balmora, a city that sounds very promising and is not that far away. My mind filled with new information and schemes, I gave the locals my goodbyes and exited the tradehouse.

[To be continued - I hope my attention span allows me to]