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#Post#: 1830--------------------------------------------------
The Story of Trey
By: treydog Date: May 4, 2014, 3:31 pm
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This is where it all began (tm). Well- no. It all began with
Daggerfall, which begat Morrowind, which sent me to the official
forum, where I found Arwen's wonderful story of her character's
adventures. So, one day while I was bored out my mind at work,
I grabbed a piece of paper from my "slush pile" and wrote the
words that follow on the back. That was.... 10 years ago. The
response I got was far more than I could have imagined, and for
a while there, we had quite a number of GOOD stories (to go
along with this one). Since this is a new place and many of you
have not had the chance to read from the beginning- well, here
you go. I will try not to "post-machine" updates. I hope you
enjoy reading as much as I did writing.
----------------------
[center]The Story of Trey[/center]
Me that ‘ave been what I’ve been
Me that ‘ave gone where I’ve gone
Me that ‘ave seen what I’ve seen …
Me
Chant-Pagan, English Irregular, Discharged
Rudyard Kipling
[center]Chapter 1[/center]
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."
#Post#: 1832--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: mirocu Date: May 4, 2014, 3:39 pm
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That really was very well-written, trey! Good descriptions of
environments and what thoughts went through his mind. Nice work!
:)
#Post#: 1845--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: Callidus Thorn Date: May 4, 2014, 5:28 pm
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A Morrowind story?
Awesome :)
I love the names Trey gave when asked for his parentage!
Looking forward to reading more
#Post#: 1878--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: McBadgere Date: May 5, 2014, 12:08 am
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Well, that was awesome!!...
I love his attitude from the start...One that, I'm sure will be
passed down the generations when or if he decides to have
kids... ;) ...
The whole alchemy thing is excellent too...That he gets thrown
in jail for the "crime" of sleeping rough and then the whole
thing escalating from a wanting to mix potions is a laugh in
itself... ;D ...And, as Thorny-Boy says, the names make me laugh
too... ;D ...
An awesome story from the off...Love it!!...
Nice one!!...
*Applauds heartily*...
#Post#: 1881--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: mirocu Date: May 5, 2014, 1:51 am
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Only now I realised what names he gave as his parents!!
HTML http://static.zenimax.com/forums.bethsoft.com/public/style_emoticons/default/rofl.gif
#Post#: 2081--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: treydog Date: May 5, 2014, 8:22 pm
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@mirocu- Thank you, kind sir. Ah- yes his parents’ “names.”
Just a preview of Trey’s ability to talk himself into more
trouble without even trying…. I am pleased the descriptions
work- I wanted to give the “feel” of someone seeing things for
the first time.
@Callidus- Yes, unfortunately(?) I have only managed to write
Morrowind (and the expansions) stories- so far. There are some
work-in-progress things for… other places- but I don’t know yet.
My thanks for reading and commenting.
@McB- I have to admit, it is great fun for me to revisit this.
Trey has a place in my heart (not simply because he is named
after the gone but not forgotten dachshund). And yes- his…
direct… attitude seems to have carried over…. Thank you so
much, my friend.
And now- more story of The Prisoner of.... no, no, wrong story.
-----------------------------------------------------------
[left]A heavily cloaked and hooded figure stepped into the
light, flanked by crossbow-wielding guards. Even from beneath
the hood, I could feel the intensity of his gaze. A commanding
voice from somewhere behind the hooded person spoke,
"Very well, Trey. You can come quietly under your own power...
or just quietly." At the last phrase, the stranger
touched an amulet at his throat. I shrugged -carefully- and
replied,
"You're the boss. Where am I going?"
One of the guards blew a whistle and I heard a carriage come up
the street. Another guard stepped forward with a cheap (and
smelly) cloak, which he threw over me. Then he pulled the hood
down to conceal my face. The darkened carriage pulled up and the
captain said,
"Inside, Breton. We're going for a ride."
As the door was opened, I caught a glimpse of a coat of arms
that had been blacked out. It might have been a dragon. Or
perhaps not. Four guards climbed in with me and two more rode on
the outside of the carriage. Someone wasn't taking any chances.
Who did these people think I was? My few attempts to ask
questions or start a conversation were met with stony silence.
These people must really take their flowers seriously, I
thought.
Hours later, I became aware of an odd smell, like dead fish and
salt. The carriage wheels rattled off the cobblestones and onto
wooden planks. Low voices called orders and the doors were
opened. We were on a dock, with a low, single-masted ship lying
alongside. No lights were burning on board and only one man was
on deck. As I stepped down, the guards surrounded me and hustled
me up the gang plank. From a second carriage came the
mysteriously cloaked figure as well as a mage. At a nod from the
cloaked stranger, the guards thoroughly searched me, finding
both of my hidden lock picks. Then, to my surprise, they
unlocked the bracer from my wrist and stepped back. Before I
could react, the mage came forward, raised an amulet, and spoke
words I couldn't understand. I felt my knees turn to water and
fell forever into darkness.
How long I slept I don't know. The dreams I had were unlike any
I had ever known. A barren, blighted land was suddenly washed
with healing rain and bloomed anew; a voice spoke strange words
of comfort, words that seemed at once strange and yet familiar.
I felt as if I were in the grip of a terrible fever, yet at
peace as I never had been before.
The next I knew, a raspy voice was saying, "Wake up. We're here.
Are you okay? Why are you shaking?"
Awakening, I almost feared that my dream had turned to
nightmare. Facing me was an elf like none I'd ever seen. He had
skin the color of ash, one red eye, and a nasty scar crossing
the other eye socket. Still, he seemed concerned for me. His
next words were, "Even last night's storm couldn't wake you. I
heard them say we've reached Morrowind. I'm sure they'll let us
go. What's your name?"
I just had time to tell him, "Trey," and to hear his response,
"Jiub," when a guard approached.
"They want you up on deck," he growled, displaying just as much
personality as every other guard I had met.
With a shrug to Jiub, I followed the guard through the lower
hold and then the upper and finally onto the deck. That was my
first glimpse of Morrowind, the place where my life would change
beyond my imagining, a place of dreams and nightmares, loyalty
and betrayal, blood and magic. Before I was even aware of the
sights and sounds, I was assaulted- there's no other word- by
the smell. Humidity, vegetation green and rotting, fish left too
long in the sun, cooking fires. The smell said to me, deep down,
"Trey, you are very far from home."
I took a moment to look around and saw docks, thatch-roofed
buildings, a lighthouse, and something that looked like a giant
flea with- was that a PERSON up there? I had a feeling I had
just dropped myself deep into the privy pit.
The Redguard standing watch on deck pointed me down the
gangplank to the dock with the words, "This is where they want
you. Head down to the dock and he'll show you to the Census
Office."
The guard on the dock must have been blind or drunk- he asked me
where I was from. For once, I decided to just answer the
question and not be my usual sarcastic self. Maybe travel really
was an education.
In a bored voice the guard responded, "I'm sure you'll fit right
in."
With those words, he took me up to the building and indicated
that I was to go in. Inside was yet another guard and an
officious clerk by the name of Socucius Ergalla. He said they'd
been expecting me and proceeded to ask me a bunch of nosy
questions about my abilities and preferences. Even when I felt
inclined to lie, I couldn't. It must have been some leftover
effect of whatever spell that mage cast on me back in Cyrodiil.
Anyway, under that strange compulsion, I told the Census fellow
that I preferred Stealth and long blades, and that I knew a
little alchemy and some minor spells. There was a lot more and
afterwards I felt as if I had been paraded naked through the
town. This wasn’t a Census, it was an Inquistion.
Finally, he asked for my birth sign. "The Tower," I said,
wondering why he cared. I decided if he invited me to meet him
for a drink later, I would take a swing at him, guard or no
guard. But no, it was just more of the Empire's nonsense. He
asked me to check over the papers and then said four words that
caught my interest, "...collect your release fee." That had a
nice sound. I wondered what sort of money they were talking-
maybe the 29 drakes they had stolen from me back in Cyrodiil?
The guard unlocked an inner door and told me to go on through to
the next building and talk to Sellus Gravius. I stepped into an
empty hallway and casually swung the door shut. Alone at last, I
took a moment to examine my surroundings. I saw a short hallway
with one small room off to the right and a few steps down
straight ahead. I decided to check out the right-hand room
first. It appeared to be a small dining room, with food and
plates still on the table. Stuck into the table was an iron
dagger. Short blades were not my favorite weapon, but anything
was better than bare knuckles. There was also some nice
silverware and some local liquor. Best of all, someone had
carelessly left a lock pick lying around. I palmed the pick and
noticed a cheap moneybox on the bottom shelf. I decided that it
was only right that I check the quality of their lock. After
all, if that evil-looking elf from the ship came through after
me, he'd probably just pocket whatever he found. Better for a
fine upstanding Breton like myself to hold any valuables. Inside
were 31 drakes. This was outstanding, my first day in a new town
and I had already turned a profit. I quickly decided that if I
could find a sack, I would also "protect" the better silverware,
the alcohol, and the alchemy ingredients before some thief came
along.
Down the steps I found a storeroom with a few sacks of
ingredients. I borrowed one of the sacks and bagged everything
up. Then I paused. There was no way all these guards were going
to let a prisoner fresh off the boat stroll through with a sack
full of loot. The memory of how they had piled on for a few
flowers was fresh in my mind. After all, that was what had
gotten me sent here- or so I thought. "Time to be a bit careful,
Old Son," I said to myself. "Let's get the lay of the land
first." So I placed the bag out of sight and carefully opened
the door leading from the small dining room. For a change, it
seemed that luck was with me- the door opened to a small,
blessedly EMPTY yard, an empty yard with a rain barrel. Rain
barrels are a wonderful place to temporarily keep things that
might lead to embarrassing questions and even more embarrassing
answers.
Apparently, someone else had had the same idea- inside the
barrel was a ring of healing. I was beginning to like this
place. Maybe the frontier was more suited to my temperament. So,
with nothing in my hands except my release papers, I stepped
into the next building. Oh joy,I muttered to myself as I saw yet
another Legion officer. He took my papers and gave me back a
sealed package, a set of directions, and, amazingly, 87 gold.
Apparently concerned that I couldn't read, he explained the
directions to me.
"Go to Balmora. Deliver this package to Caius Cosades. I don't
know where he is. I don't know what it's about. I follow orders.
I love the Emperor."
The directions made for some interesting reading. One section in
particular caught my eye:
"Remember. You owe your life and freedom to the Emperor. Serve
him well, and you will be rewarded. Betray him, and you will
suffer the fate of all traitors."
I thought to myself, "Captain, you may enjoy being the Emperor's
errand boy, but I have other plans." I figured I would drop off
the package just to get them off my back and also to discover
what in Oblivion this was all about, but I would do it in my own
time. My priority was to get some cash and to scout this place
out. Surely there would be some opportunities. The captain
didn't seem to have anything more to say, so I excused myself,
mumbling something about needing to step into the courtyard for
a second. He ignored me as I casually carried the bag full of
the Empire's silverware and liquor through the door. Part of
being a successful thief is to act like you belong wherever you
are and that you should be doing exactly what you're doing.
Either I was getting better at it or else he just didn't care.
Either way, I calmly stepped out into about the sorriest
collection of shacks I had ever seen and a new life.[/left]
#Post#: 2097--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: McBadgere Date: May 6, 2014, 12:15 am
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So...Not post-machining then?... :P ...
Absolutely loved how you get him dragged to Morrowind...
I love all the nods to the way the game seems to help you along,
like, the deserted corridor with the lootable rooms, and the
downstairs where he could ransack and then sack the goods... :D
...And then they pay you too!!...
Brilliant and amazing stuff...
Nice one!!...
*Applauds heartily*...
#Post#: 2104--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: mirocu Date: May 6, 2014, 4:33 am
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Again, very well written :) I quite enjoyed going through all
that and I vividly remember when my own character did that. You
have some great stuff here, treydog :)
#Post#: 2122--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: Callidus Thorn Date: May 6, 2014, 10:07 am
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Heh, almost everything I was going to say has already been said
by McB.
In addition to what he said, I loved Trey's reaction to seeing a
silt-strider :D
Damn good stuff!
#Post#: 2463--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: treydog Date: May 10, 2014, 10:50 am
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@McB- Well, ummm, ahh… (blushes and digs toe into ground)… I
was so happy to actually READ this again, that I got a bit happy
with the posting. Back when this was new ™, I actually tried to
write a post a day. That was… some sort of mental disorder.
The result is some “parts” are shorter than others, because
while I aimed for 1000-1500 words per, that did not always
happen.
Anyway, I kinda like Morrowind “tutorial” the best, because it
gives you choices. Yes, there are prompts like “Take the
dagger” or “use the lockpicks.” But they are mostly woven into
the environment, and you can decide- “my character doesn’t use-
that weapon- lockpicks- alchemy”. Personal preference and all
that.
@mirocu- My thanks. I always enjoyed the moral choices being
presented right at the start. “The stuff is right there- no one
is watching- it isn’t marked as ‘owned,’…” So one CAN begin
roleplaying immediately.
@Callidus Thorn- Thank you for reading and responding. One of
the things that helped with Trey was thinking about him as
someone with definite… opinions about things. And the strider
is certainly one of those. On another note, the bit about the
smell of Seyda Neen comes from what a number of Vietnam vets
have told me about the moment the door on the airliner opened…
------------------------------------------------
I decided that the first thing to do was find someone who could
point me in the right direction, give me an idea of who was who.
There was no way I was going to ask the guards anything,
especially not while I was carrying a bunch of goods without a
bill of sale. Besides, conversation with most guards tends to be
of the "Move it along. I've got my eye on you, and by the way,
what's in the bag?" variety. No thanks. What I needed was
somebody who was a little crooked, but not really very bright.
The easiest person to gull is the one who gulls himself. And
there, walking toward me, I saw a gift from the gods. Assuming
that is that the gods love thieves and have a sense of humor.
He was a Wood Elf, or Bosmer, one of those annoying fellows you
expect to be hanging out in some sylvan glade making songs about
birds and butterflies. This guy's whining voice would have
knocked the birds right out of their nests and turned the
butterflies into sour milk. Self-important little twit,
strutting about as if he had a million deals to set up, yet
dressed no better than I was. So I tried my sincerest smile and
said,
"Beautiful day, my fine Wood Elf. How fare you in this fine
city?" It's a wonder I didn't choke on that, but you have to
sound even dumber than the mark if you want to make it work.
His name was Fargoth, he said. He had noticed the boat coming in
and thought it an odd time of day; it was apparently an
unscheduled run. Not only that, but it seemed I was the only one
who landed here in lovely Seyda Neen. Then he made a remark that
told me I had picked the right elf:
"Hope the Imperials treat you okay."
There was a wealth of feeling in that simple statement, so I
made an encouraging noise to keep him going. He mentioned that
he was sure the local Imperial bully-boys had stolen his ring.
"Ring?" I said, glad that I wasn't wearing the one I had found
in the rain barrel.
The little guy told a long story about how the guards were
always shaking him down and now he was missing an "engraved ring
of healing." Maybe I had seen it?
Now some people might think what I did next was either
soft-headed or criminally stupid, but I reached into my pocket
and pulled out the rain barrel treasure and asked him,
"You mean like this one?"
He was so excited, he was babbling. I was his new best friend.
He was going to tell everybody. Those guards were going to get
it one of these days. Finally, he ran down after promising to
put in a good word for me with Arrille, the only merchant in the
whole town. And that, my friends, is why I did it. I didn't need
a sorry healing ring when I could cast hearth heal or make
potions. I did need friends and inside information. "Bread upon
the waters" is what you call it. Give a little bit and you may
get back a lot more.
Now that he was my "best friend," I wrung every bit of
information I could from the little Bosmer. One important thing
he had told me already- there were some local strong-arm types
already in control, and they were guards themselves or else were
paying them off. So I needed to sell my goods, get an outfit,
and move on before they took too much interest in the new guy. I
had already had all the attention I wanted from the guards. So,
it looked like a day or two here to make contacts and build up
some cash, then it would be time to take it on the road. It also
looked like it might be worthwhile to find a local place to
stash most of my goods- preferably NOT a rain barrel, since the
locals seemed to know that one already.
Otherwise, Fargoth told me about a place called 'Solstheim'
somewhere "up North" where the Legion was having trouble. You
can imagine how that broke my heart. He also tried to give me
advice on how to read people and get on their good side.
Remember what I said about letting the mark sell himself?
Finally, he noted that the town was as bad as I feared- one
trader, no guilds, no temples, no specialty shops. Well, I
thought, one rundown store where the owner likes me beats a
hundred high-class shops where they would throw me out because
of my clothes. It was going to take time to build up a decent
outfit and find out who the real powers were. That was one
mistake from Cyrodiil I wasn't going to repeat here. I was going
to find out who hollered when toes got stepped on, BEFORE I did
any stepping. And then, just maybe, I would do more than step on
toes.
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