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#Post#: 3492--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: Elisabeth Hollow Date: May 31, 2014, 10:51 am
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Uh oh!
All it took was a nick to the nose for him to lose it! At least
he got her, lol
#Post#: 3532--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: McBadgere Date: May 31, 2014, 10:06 pm
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*Applauds*... ;D ....
I do like this story...Very much...
Truly excellent stuff...
Loved the way he went into the cave hoping to be friends and
just got ticked off by the response... :D ;) ...
Brilliant stuff...
Nice one!!...
*Applauds heartily*...
#Post#: 3849--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: treydog Date: June 7, 2014, 8:37 pm
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@Elizabeth- I think I had his nose get injured several times....
Time will tell. And that was kinda one of my gripes with
Morrowind I admit... no, not Trey's nose- that's his problem.
But the fact that all the "enemies" are homicidal and suicidal.
There ir RARELY a "middle ground".
@McBadgere- Many thanks. More cave-diving follows...
Author's Note- The actual thing the wizard yells (see below) is-
"This is the end of you, s'wit." But Trey doesn't speak
Morrowindian.... Dunmeri? Vvardenfellian?... anyway, on with
the story.
------------------------------------------
On the other side of that gate, I found a Khajiit and two
Argonians. And they were slaves. Any regrets I might have had
about killing the smuggler evaporated in that instant. Since I
grew up practically a slave myself, I despise the practice of
slavery. The way I feel about slavery and those who traffic in
slaves makes my feelings toward the Empire seem positively warm.
Those poor wretches clustered around me and said, "Do you have
the key? Will you let me go free?"
Working quickly, I unlocked the bracers and freed Baadargo,
Banalz, and Okaw. The slave bracers were the three enchantments
revealed by the Beggar's Nose spell. They were worth a few gold,
but the mere touch of them turned my stomach, so I resolved to
pitch them into the sea. I questioned Baadargo and his
companions, but they didn't know much. They had been grabbed,
tossed onto a boat, carried off from the mainland, and caged
here. That sure sounded familiar. They were in pretty poor
shape; it didn't look like the smugglers had given any thought
to feeding them. They weren't sure how many smugglers were
around- they had seen a red-haired Dunmer woman and a wizard,
who had put the bracers on them.
I shared out some kwama eggs I had found one place and another,
and told them, "Stay here. I'll clean out the rest of the
smugglers, then you can figure out a way to get out of here." I
would have given them gold to buy their way home, but I didn't
have it. One of the rumors I had heard in town was that there
was an abolitionist movement; maybe these guys could find some
help to get home. Meanwhile, I had some slave traders to educate
on the finer points of swordsmanship. I really hoped they were
fast learners, because there was only going to be one lesson and
then a final exam.
One of the few fortunate things about my unfortunate lineage is
that I have a decent ability to resist magic. However, it
doesn't do any good against elemental magic (think fire and
frost spells), so I wanted to be prepared before I went up
against the wizard that was supposed to be lurking around
Addamasartus. First, I switched to my bow. It was chitin, and
not very powerful, but in the close quarters of a cave, that
shouldn't matter too much. Next I readied the shield spell known
as Dragon Skin (another benefit of my dubious heritage) and
glanced over the summon skeleton scroll. That may see like
excessive preparation to some, but I had a healthy respect for
wizards' abilities. And since buying the scroll was sort of what
had gotten me into this mess, it seemed only fair to get some
benefit from it.
So that was the plan- sneak up on Mr. Wizard, cast Dragon Skin,
read the scroll, then pin-cushion him with arrows while the
summoned skeleton took the abuse. Plans are wonderful things.
They help us feel like we are doing something positive as
opposed to running around squalling. Of course, for all the good
most plans do, the exercise from running around and squalling
would be of more value.
The plan kind of went out the window with Step One, “Sneak Up on
the Wizard.” As I eased down the ladder from the slave pen, one
of my really spiffy,
charcoal-blackened-so-it-wouldn’t-glow-in-the-dark chitin boots
kicked loose a pebble. Said pebble proceeded to cheerfully
rattle all the way down to the landing where the wizard was
standing among some crates and barrels.
Still, that was no problem, he was a long way off, and I could
move to Step Two. Hang on a minute, which one was Step Two- Cast
Skeleton Skin, shoot the mage with my dragon, throw a scroll at
him? As I fumbled with bow, arrows, scroll, and spell gestures,
he was running toward me. Apparently his plan consisted of only
one step- kill the Breton. He also yelled something about, "This
is the end of your spit," which didn't make much sense, as I
wasn't cooking anything at the time. Of course, my mouth WAS
pretty dry, so maybe that was what he meant. Anyway, trying to
figure out crazy wizard battle cries wasn't going to do me any
good, so I started pelting him with arrows.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to hit a moving target in a
dark cave, shooting downhill with a cheap bow? I think maybe
throwing the bow at him might have been better; he might have
tripped over it.
"Okay," I thought, "I've got a second, time to read the scroll
and get some help here."
That little exercise reminded me why I prefer potions. Trying to
read a scroll as some guy comes charging at you with blood in
his eye is not fun. Just in time, the skeleton coalesced in
front of me- facing the WRONG WAY!
"Not me! Him! Attack HIM!" I screamed. With a toothy smile (the
only kind he was capable of), the skeleton turned toward the
wizard. Relieved that something seemed to be going right for a
change, I backed up, cast my Dragon Skin, and settled in to
watch the fight.
Skeletons are really good for scaring the scrib jelly out of
small children, and the higher level ones make effective guards,
but the scroll variety don't stand a chance against a wizard.
Mr. Bones absorbed a couple of fire-based spells (oh, wonderful,
this wizard WOULD have elemental spells) and disappeared without
getting in a hit. I was a little more fortunate; one of my iron
arrows found its mark just under the mage's right arm. By now,
he was right on top of me, so it was time for sword work again.
He managed to damage me pretty severely before a quick thrust to
the throat between his raised hands stopped his spell-casting
permanently.
In terms of solving my financial problems, the wizard wasn't
much better than the first smuggler- all he was carrying was
another chitin dagger and a few coins. So there I was, half dead
and a lot less than half way toward getting back the tax money.
I was beginning to wonder if adventuring was really what I
wanted to do. Then I remembered those slaves back upstairs. I
had promised them I would finish this.
A few repetitions of my healing spell repaired the damage from
the wizard's attack and I moved down to the landing to see what
was in all those boxes and barrels. I also wanted to investigate
that last enchantment that my Beggar's Nose had indicated. As
quietly as I could, I peered down the next passage, and spotted
second red-haired Dunmer woman.
Hoping for a quick takedown, or at least to cause some damage, I
drew back the bowstring and let fly. Apparently, at least for
me, hitting a non-moving target in a well-lit cave, on level
ground with a cheap bow is not easy, either. As soon as the
first arrow rattled off the cave wall behind her, she started
bobbing and weaving and chucking chitin throwing stars at me.
Fortunately, her aim was almost as bad as mine.
Unfortunately, it was only "almost" as bad- those things sting
when they hit. Giving serious consideration to using the
bowstring to hang myself, 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.
A search turned up the usual paltry stash of coins, plus a lock
pick and a probe. Hmmm, she must have been in the trade. Well,
turning to smuggling human cargo was a career-limiting decision
on her part. No one else seemed about to spring out at me, so I
turned to the containers to see what my blood and sweat had
bought.
Going through the various boxes, chests, and barrels yielded a
mixed lot- weapons, cash, liquor, ingredients, household goods-
and clothing. I was just starting to wonder why it was necessary
to smuggle cheap trousers when I made an interesting discovery.
Lifting out the clothing revealed several packets of a peculiar
white, crystalline substance and a couple of small vials marked
with a crescent moon. Clearly, these were some sort of
alchemical ingredients and potions, but I had never seen
anything like them. With a mental shrug, I added it all to the
pile.
What with the weapons and the liquor, I thought I might have
enough to make up the missing tax money. Still, that last
enchantment I had detected pulled at me- maybe it would be the
item that financed my future. 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 I piled up everything I didn't want weighing me down while
exploring, and pushed deeper into the cave. I passed through
another gate into a long, flooded passage. I was able to keep my
head above water most of the way, but there finally came a point
where I was going to have to duck under a low overhang. Just to
be sure, I cast the detection spell one more time- sure enough,
the enchantment was on the other side of the overhang. I thought
to myself, "If I'm going all through this for a stupid potion of
water breathing...."
The submerged area was fairly short and I soon found myself in a
half-flooded circular chamber with a high ceiling. A stone ramp
led up out of the pool. There in a clump of mushrooms were
scattered bones, pieces of armor, and a few coins. The detection
spell indicated I was right on top of the enchanted item, but
where was it? I turned slowly, scanning the ground for any
manmade object. The eerie glow of the Luminous Russula made it
harder to see. I knew there were spells of light or night-eye,
but I didn't have those. Finally, I took off my gauntlets and
crawled on my knees, feeling the ground inch by inch. There! It
was a ring. I seemed to remember an old story about a burglar
who went underground and found a magic ring... naah, couldn't
be. I examined it closely and decided it was what is known as a
Thief Ring. A handy item for one in my trade, it could provide a
small boost to speed, agility, and personality. It was not a
sword or helm of great power, but then what did I expect? People
don't just leave really nice swords lying around where anybody
can pick them up. With a salute to the bones of my
long-departed brother thief, I made my way back to the pile of
loot and out of the cave. As I passed the slave pen, I was
pleased to see that the three captives had taken the opportunity
to escape.
Coming out from underground to find that it was still daylight
was a surprise. It felt as if I had spent at least a week in
that cave. However, the sun was sinking, and I knew I needed to
get back to town and unload all these smuggler goods. Although I
couldn't accurately estimate the value of everything, I had a
feeling I would be able to pay the tax money and still be well
on my way to amassing enough to see about better equipment. In
particular, those vials with the crescent moons appeared to be
very high quality, not the half-fired clay jugs used for common
potions. The more valuable the contents, the more ornate the
container. With thoughts of having all the coin I could carry, I
strolled into Arrille's and laid everything except the fancy
vials on the counter. Those I wanted to save until I saw how the
negotiations went.
Arrille's first words came as a surprise, "Get rid of that moon
sugar. I don't want any trouble." Moon sugar? He pointed at the
peculiar white crystals, a look of extreme distaste on his face.
Okay, no problem. I gathered the packets of powder, carried them
outside, and hid them. I came back in and laid the fancy vials
on the counter in place of the Moon Sugar. His eyes practically
popped out of his head. He looked around frantically and said,
"I'm not going to buy that skooma from you. Get rid of it and
then we can trade." I could hardly believe that this was the
same trader who cheerfully took the silverware and liquor
without blinking. There was some kind of story here, and I
needed to know what it was. So, I cached the "skooma" with the
moon sugar, came back inside and said,
"What's the problem with those items?"
"Skooma is an illegal narcotic substance made from refined moon
sugar. Criminals use it as a kind of currency. It makes you
strong and fast, but also clumsy and stupid. I want no part of
it."
The problem of Arrille's delicate sensibilities taken care of,
we settled down to haggle. In the end, I had managed to come up
with a little over 300 gold. I decided to hustle over to the
Census Office before my lack of control caused me to buy back
the Colavian hat or something equally useful. Ergalla was
pleased to see me. Of course, he was even more pleased to see
the money. He started talking about how wonderful it was that I
was so honest; in fact, he had needed someone trustworthy for a
special job. When Imperial officials start talking like that, I
start looking for a fast exit. Whatever they have in mind is
going to be "for the good of the Empire" and bad for the person
doing the work. Under all the flattery, what he wanted was for
me to find out who killed Processus. The job would pay 500 gold.
That sounded like a WONDERFUL plan- track down a murderer, get
proof that he had done it, and squeal to the Empire so they
could execute him. But no, I had misunderstood- the Empire
wasn't going to execute the murderer- that was MY job.
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? 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.
#Post#: 5256--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: treydog Date: September 19, 2014, 6:25 pm
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Next wall-o-text coming right up.....
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 con-man,
especially if that the con-man 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 pre-occupied 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.
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
what you're going to taste like? 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 crazy 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.
End Chapter 1
#Post#: 5355--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: treydog Date: September 27, 2014, 8:27 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
[center]Chapter 2[/center]
It is now the middle of Last Seed here on Vvardenfell, near the
anniversary of my arrival so many years ago. If you were to ask
me what I had for supper last night, I would be hard pressed to
say. But if you asked me to recall my first days in Morrowind, I
would do so with ease. And so I shall.
As I went north out of Seyda Neen, I remembered a promise I had
made to a Khajiit and two Argonians. Turning west to the sea, I
cast a spell of Water Walking and traveled out to deep water.
Once there, I dropped three slave bracers, symbols of a practice
I hated with every fiber of my being. Having been a victim of
forced servitude myself, a slave in all but name, I would do
whatever I could to cripple the foul practice. Promise
fulfilled, I turned back toward shore and discovered one of the
major limitations of magic: spells do not last forever, nor even
as long as one might wish. In fact, spells often expire at
particularly unfortunate moments. For example, when the
spell-caster is well out into the sea and preaching the evils of
slavery to an audience of one. One moment I was gliding across
the surface of the water, composing one of the greatest
anti-slavery speeches in the history of the Empire, the next I
was gasping and trying not to swallow a significant portion of
the Inner Sea. For future reference, it is better to compose
great speeches and plan grand crusades from a comfortable chair
in front of a warm fire.
My situation was quickly noticed by several small green fish,
which seemed to be composed mostly of mouths full of long,
needle-sharp teeth. If my sword technique on land had improved
any, it was not noticeable in the water. My thrashing and
cursing would have proved highly entertaining to anyone
watching; I believe I overcame the slaughterfish as much by
churning the water as by swordplay. Once my attackers floated on
the surface, I was able to examine them and discover that, in
addition to their impressive teeth, they possessed scales with
some properties useful for the making of potions, such as Water
Walking. Such as... the spell that I had cast to get out here,
the spell that I still knew, the spell that I had sufficient
magicka to cast perhaps another 9 times! If the water had
churned when I fought the slaughterfish, it positively boiled as
I realized that I could have just cast a simple spell. I was
much damper and much quieter as I slunk back to shore. On a
happier note, I didn't quite drown when I noticed some kollops
and dove to check them for pearls.
Back on more or less dry land, I downed one of Thavere's healing
potions and decided to practice with that bane of my existence,
the chitin short bow. My targets of choice were mudcrabs; they
tended to be slow and not require 50 or 60 arrows to kill. That
may seem cruel to some, but I had several good reasons. First, I
was not a ranger; I didn't go flitting through the forest
singing songs to the birds and furry creatures. Second, I needed
the crab meat to keep me going- there weren't any provisioners
out there. And, finally, I really needed to improve my skill
with the bow if I wanted to survive. There were plenty of
creatures that could hurt me badly if I allowed them into close
range. Other than the mudcrabs and a few rats, I met no
opposition. Of course, I did bypass several tombs and caves,
feeling that my equipment and skills simply weren't up to the
kind of trouble I might find. Besides, undead sort of, um,
what's the word ... scared me.
I didn't hurry, but I didn't want to waste time either- I had
probably left some enemies behind me- enemies that might prove
powerful. I needed to get to a town large enough to lose myself
and to perhaps join a guild or two. Guilds can be annoying, what
with rules, duties, and membership dues, but they also provide
some protection. In the real world, most lone wolves either
starve to death or get taken down by the pack. It's a romantic
image, but I had to think about survival, not image. As I passed
the wizard-shaped depression in the road where Tarhiel had
discovered one of the fundamental laws of physics, I turned
east, wanting to work my way inland. The coast was humid and
muddy; I hoped to find more pleasant travel conditions across
the foothills. Also, I had just about all the mushrooms I would
ever want; I hoped to find different plants farther inland.
My efforts were rewarded with a large variety of plants,
including some that would provide healing. Best of all, no
Imperial guards jumped out of the bushes to accuse me of lurking
with the intent to loiter or treason or whatever else they could
make up. As I came up the path to Pelegiad, I almost thought I
had been magically transported to High Rock. The buildings
looked so much like my home province that I felt a twinge of
homesickness. That was quickly dispelled by the sight of an
Imperial fort hovering like a black cloud at the north edge of
town. Whenever I began to feel that I could breathe freely, I
was reminded that the iron fist of the Empire was wrapped around
my throat. Seeking a friendly, non-Imperial face, I spied
Kunthar, a Nord barbarian. Generally, I find Nords to be
likable; they have a simple outlook on life- smash it, spend it,
eat it, or drink it. He explained that the Imperial wart, I mean
"fort," was only one part of the problem. There were also
retired soldiers who had settled here and established farms.
Pelegiad would not be the best place for me to settle, then.
Besides, I had no way of knowing if the Imperial authorities in
Seyda Neen were getting ready to send a message for all
garrisons to pick up "one Trey, Breton, to be held on
suspicion."
Kunthar was a good fellow; he told me about the services
available in Pelegiad- the Halfway tavern and inn, two smiths, a
trader, even an Imperial Cult shrine. The inn was of greatest
interest to me- I needed a chance to clean off the grime of the
road and perhaps sleep in a bed. Inside the tavern, I met a
peculiar Dunmer by the name of Yakum who spoke a strange variety
of Elvish. Among other odd subjects, he mentioned something
about a prophecy, apparently some belief of the Ashland Dunmer.
It all had to do with something or someone called the
Nerevarine. I hardly understood a thing he said, but I liked the
old boy; he seemed like my kind of person. After politely ending
my conversation with Yakum, I approached the owner, who offered
a selection of drinks, food, and best of all, beds. After buying
some kwama eggs, I mentally counted my gold and decided I had
enough to take a room. That would give me a chance to repair my
gear, mix potions, and rest.
Originally, I had planned to just camp on the road and do my
maintenance there. But then it struck me that the "clank, clank,
ting, clank, clank" of armor repair might be as good as a dinner
bell to any creatures in the area. I might as well just start
shouting, "Yoo hoo, monster, come and eat me. Got your nice
fresh Breton on the half-shell." No, civilization had its
benefits, even if I did have to put up with the presence of
Imperials. In the quiet of my room, I was able to mix up some
Restore Fatigue potions and repair the worst of the wear on my
armor and weapons. Best of all, I got to sleep in a bed. It was
expensive, but I kind of liked it. Back home, I generally had to
share my straw pile in the stable with whatever kind of
"wildlife" might be there. That might be one reason why the silt
strider bothered me so much; a flea that size would do a lot
more than just leave a tiny bump if it bit you. In fact, YOU
would be the tiny bump in the silt strider's stomach. The next
morning, feeling rested and well-fed for the first time, I got
back on the road, ready to find adventure, fame, and fortune.
What I found was romance.
#Post#: 5523--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: treydog Date: October 4, 2014, 7:41 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
In the spirit of total honesty (at least as far as YOU know), I
must confess that one of my reasons for leaving my joyous
existence as an indentured servant in High Rock was the hope of
finding romance. Although I was not a bad-looking fellow, my
station in life told against me. And it was probable that I was
not always able to remove the marks (and smells) of my work in
the stable. That, too, had a negative effect on my chance for
romance. Of course, I had no firsthand experience of love,
anyway; what little I thought I knew came from books. For some
reason, the innkeeper and his wife did not begrudge me the
privilege of reading books. Perhaps because they were themselves
illiterate, they did not recognize the value of being able to
read. I had been fortunate enough to come to the attention of a
wandering alchemist, who sensed my talent and taught me my
letters. "Books," he said, "are the most powerful thing in the
world. They can outlast any empire, defeat any sword ever
forged." All that may have been true, but what I loved were
stories of adventure and daring escapes, of a young man with a
mysterious birthmark who overcame great odds and was revealed to
be the lost prince. The only marks I had were from the knotted
rope the innkeeper used on me if he felt I was moving too
slowly. I even read the so-called "ladies' books" of poetry and
romance. Some of them struck me as foolish, but still, the idea
of a beautiful noblewoman falling in love with a commoner had
some appeal. And, to my great surprise, I found out that that
sort of thing really did happen. Of course, as with most
revelations, it was not exactly the way I expected it to be.
Getting an early start, I left Pelegiad by the north road,
making my slow way to Balmora and this Caius Cosades person I
was supposed to meet. Although I had tried, I had not forgotten
the package I was to deliver, nor the instructions that
accompanied it. The words, "...suffer the fate of all traitors"
had a way of staying in one's mind. I had not walked far when I
saw a breath-taking woman standing beside the road, looking
clearly distressed. She was beautiful; she was wealthy; best of
all, she was a Breton, one of my own people. I approached her
carefully; it wouldn't do to appear threatening; Breton
noblewomen are delicate creatures, easily frightened. Sweeping a
low bow, I said,
"May I be of some assistance to you, my lady?"
"Yes. Have you perhaps seen a bandit in the area?"
My heart skipped, for a variety of reasons. Should I reveal
myself as the charming and mysterious rogue, Trey of High Rock?
Or should I exercise caution? As it turned out, neither was
necessary, for she continued:
"He was a dark elf--a strong, dashing dark elf. He took my
jewels."
It appeared my reputation had not preceded me after all. She
simply needed someone to recover her lost valuables. Still,
might it not seem heroic if I overcame the fierce bandit and...?
But no, she really wasn't concerned about the jewels; she wanted
to find the bandit. She was rather taken with him. She said his
name was Nelos Onmar and that she expected he was in Pelegiad,
for he had said something about heading north. That last
confused me somewhat, for I had just left Pelegiad behind me to
the south, but perhaps love befuddles one's sense of direction.
What she needed was for some kind person to carry her glove to
Nelos as a token of her regard. Perhaps I was as soppy as
Maurrie, or perhaps I wanted to believe that if ONE lovable
rogue could find romance, so might another; in any event, I
agreed to deliver the glove. Besides, I happened to know exactly
where Nelos Onmar was; I had left him in the common room of the
Halfway Tavern in Pelegiad. Turning south I retraced my steps
and soon delivered the glove and all that it conveyed. To his
credit, Nelos seemed genuinely moved; he had felt a spark of
something, too. He, in turn, gave me a note to carry to Maurrie.
If this didn't resolve itself soon, I was going to become very
familiar with the road north of Pelegiad. Trey of High Rock,
rogue, thief…, messenger boy. Gah! This was what reading those
romances did to you.
Fortunately, Maurrie had no further need of Trey's Messenger
Service for Lonely Ladies; she suggested I look up her friend
Emusette Bracques in Tel Aruhn and then departed for Pelegiad
with a smile and a good turn of speed for someone wearing a long
skirt. I, on the other hand, felt a sudden lack of motivation. I
moped slowly north, thinking morose thoughts, and felt it was
fitting that a thunder storm blew up and began soaking me to the
skin. Finally shaking off my gloom, I decided that suffering for
love was all well and good, but what I needed was shelter. Just
then, I saw a cave to the left of the trail. Either the
identifying marks had worn off or there never were any; I
believed the cave was unoccupied.
It is useful to remember that when you are depressed and caught
in a rainstorm on the road, that there are worse things than
getting wet. And some of those things live in caves.
#Post#: 5641--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: treydog Date: October 13, 2014, 11:11 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Once I had gotten in out of the rain, a momentary flash of
sanity caused me to remember what had happened the last time I
entered a cave. A short passageway led to a second door; before
attempting to explore further, I cast Beggar's Nose. As I had
suspected, the cave was inhabited, and at least three of the
inhabitants were of the non-human variety. As I approached the
inner door, I heard an ominous growling. Perhaps the intelligent
thing to do would have been to go back out into the rain, but I
was just drying off. And I was curious. What creature made such
a noise? My training in alchemy, such as it was, included the
study of creatures and their habits. As I leaned closer to the
door, I brushed it with my left shoulder and triggered some sort
of magical trap. The flare of released magicka was followed by a
feeling of a great weight settling upon me. However, my
possessions were few, and I preferred light armor so I was still
able to move. Hoping that the trap had not alerted whatever
creature was on the other side, I swung the door open. At the
time, it didn't occur to me that creatures don't set magical
traps.
Before I could take in the room behind the door, a scaly, green,
four-legged creature with glowing red eyes bounded forward,
growling. I went into a guard position with my sword and shield
and let it approach, hoping the narrow doorway would hamper its
movement. When it was within a few feet, it swiped at me with a
massive 3-toed forefoot. The doorway and my armor provided
adequate protection and I was able to fell the strange creature
with a few blows of the sparksword. After making sure it was
dead, I knelt to examine the body. It soon became apparent that
this was what was known as a Nix-Hound, a nuisance animal that
was common to the wilder parts of the Empire. They could be
trained and used as guard beasts if captured young enough and
hand-raised. The flesh could provide fatigue restoration,
although it was rather stringy and had a faint taste of
chlorine. I was so fascinated with my natural history studies
that it took me a moment to notice the Dunmer woman on the
raised wooden platform on the right side of the cavern. In fact,
it wasn't until she drew her sword that I became aware of her.
There was a closed gate between us, and she seemed reluctant to
open it. Remembering the trap on the door, I believed I knew
why. I moved closer, thinking perhaps she was a prisoner; but if
that were the case, why would she pull a sword on me? Just then,
a second Nix-Hound bounded up from the tunnel behind her. The
large beast ignored the woman and stood growling at the gate,
clearly waiting for a chance to rend my flesh. I stepped nearer
to examine the gate and got a bit too close. In a flash, the
woman's sword and the hound's claws reached through the slats
and wounded my unarmored legs. In fact, the hound managed to
hold me pinned against the gate for several agonizing seconds as
his mistress attempted to get a clear angle for a killing blow.
With difficulty, I broke free and cast Hearth Heal. Still, they
did not come through the gate; it was clear that there was a
trap on it which they feared. Studying the situation, I realized
that it was possible to strike at them around the right side of
the gate; the gatepost would shield me from most of their return
attacks. As soon as I thought of it, I put my plan into action,
with mostly satisfactory results. So eager were the hound and
the Dunmer to attack me, they took my return blows without
thinking of retreat. I suffered some wounds, but the enchantment
of my sword proved too much for them and they quickly fell.
Now there was the problem of the gate. It was built in such a
way that I could not climb over it; neither did I possess a
spell, scroll, or potion that would allow me to levitate.
Finally, trusting to my ability to heal myself, I decided on the
direct approach. Grasping the latch, I received a severe shock,
which I healed with a spell. I was going to have to find some
way of dealing with these traps besides suffering the damage.
The woman carried nothing extraordinary, so I moved deeper into
the cave. Perhaps getting rained on had washed some of the
cobwebs out of my head; perhaps I was learning from experience;
but in either case, I remembered that my detection spell had
indicated THREE creatures. Two Nix-Hounds were dealt with; where
and what was the third creature? I decided to move in the
shadows and as quietly as I could. When I reached a
cross-corridor, I cast the detection spell again. As it showed
the third and final creature far back in the cave, I silently
thanked my mother for birthing me during Frostfall. To the right
was an open gate; from the bones and scraps of flesh, this was
clearly a kennel. Some of the bones were human.
Again staying in the shadows as much as possible, I continued
down the main passage. The third, and (I hoped) final Nix-Hound
attacked me a few feet beyond the kennel. Again, Tarhiel's sword
provided the advantage I needed. Also, although I hardly noticed
at the time, my sword work was getting smoother. Finally, I came
to yet another worn door. I began to wonder if there were any
NEW doors anywhere on Vvardenfell. Perhaps the smugglers could
forget skooma and start a black market in doors. This door I
carefully checked for traps; I didn't know what I would do if I
found one, but it pays to be cautious. I opened the door and was
instantly rushed by a Dunmer with a peculiar hairstyle- a strip
of hair standing straight up ran down the center of his scalp.
Shouting, "There is no escape!" he ran at me with his fists
raised. At first I thought he was referring to his own
situation, but no, he expected to beat my sword and armor with
his bare hands. I might have understood if he was a Nord.... His
last words proved to be prophetic as he fell to my skill. Papers
in his pockets indicated that he was named Gilyn Drobar. I
wondered what desperation could have caused him to attack an
armed opponent with his fists.
Whatever his reasons, Drobar had a cozy hideaway with a wood
plank floor, circular fire pit, rugs, cushions, and benches. In
fact, there were TWO cushions for sitting, but only one person
in the cavern- perhaps there was someone else nearby. An earthen
ramp led upward and deeper inside. Still trying to emulate the
shadows, I moved on. In the final cavern of this section, I saw
another raised wooden platform with someone standing beneath it.
Unseen, I crept up to a stone column and tried to think what I
could do. I knew what over planning had done for me in
Addamasartus- nearly gotten me killed- but I couldn't just jump
out with my sword raised and yell. Actually, why not? It had the
great advantage of being so simple even I couldn't get mixed up.
Otherwise, I could try a Fireball, with a 1 in 4 chance of even
getting it to work. Or perhaps I could use one of Tarhiel's
Scrolls of Icarian Flight, jump really high, and bang my brains
out on the ceiling? No, simple may have lacked style, but it had
the advantage of working. Besides, only one person was ever
going to know HOW I did it- the other was going to be dead and
wouldn't care. In the end, I did cast Dragon Skin before jumping
out. Surprise worked to my advantage, but my opponent still
managed to bash my legs several times with her club before I
prevailed. I needed to think seriously about getting a pair of
greaves.
Finding very little of interest, I again healed myself and set
off to explore the passage across from the hound kennel. My
magicka was getting low, but I didn't want to rest in a cave
with an unknown number of enemies. Across from the kennel was
still ANOTHER worn door- maybe I should have been a carpenter
instead of a thief. Opening this door revealed a passage that
sloped upward, leading to another balcony-style platform.
Partway up the passage, with her back to me, was a white-haired
Dunmer woman. On the platform was another Dunmer, a male. I got
the woman's attention by the simple expedient of missing her
with an arrow. (Note to self: get better bow. P.S.- Or else get
better WITH bow. Thx- love, Trey).
This action had the advantage of luring her toward the door
without her companion noticing. She shouted, "Die, fetcher" and
ran at me. "Fetcher?" Did EVERYBODY already know that I had
fetched and carried for Maurrie? Getting my mind back on the
task at hand, I cleverly caused her sword to become slippery by
bleeding on it, and when she got tired of hitting me, I managed
to finish her. She was carrying an interesting instrument called
a "Fat Lute;" while I pondered what that could mean, the man
noticed what was happening and charged down at me, swinging an
axe. I also defeated him but not before having to use the last
of Thavere's restore health potions. But it was worth it, for
this cavern turned out to contain a great treasure, indeed.
#Post#: 5817--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Story of Trey
By: treydog Date: October 31, 2014, 9:14 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
I examined several crates and barrels, revealing the standard
assortment of ingredients, armor, and clothing. I was beginning
to wonder if there was no textile industry on Vvardenfell. I was
going to have to find a trader soon; all this material was
beginning to weigh me down. A couple of locked chests contained
around 30 drakes and some cheap jewelry. Then, under a hammock,
I found a chest with a better quality lock. Clearly, this was
going to be the major trove. Using the better of my lock picks
(thanks, Fargoth), I was able to force the lock. And inside,
there were--- books. That's right, books. Ancestors and the
Dunmer, The Annotated Annuad, The Anticipations, and The Book of
Dawn and Dusk. On a nearby table was The 36 Lessons of Vivec,
Sermon 16. I was so pleased I settled down for a long night of
reading.
From the first four books, I learned a great deal about the dark
elves and their beliefs. Some of it was confusing, some was
frightening, but I mainly came away with a feeling of admiration
for these people. They did not like foreigners, "outlanders" as
they called us; it was only recently that they had even
acknowledged that non-Dunmer races were human. Still, they had
fascinating beliefs and I resolved to learn more about them. I
tossed a netch leather cuirass out of my pack to make room for
the books and lay down in the hammock to rest. Eight hours
later, I was working my way steadily north toward Balmora,
gathering blooms, roots, and berries for my potion-making.
Turning west, I entered a narrow pass and came upon a scene of
desolation. The trees were shattered and stunted, largely
without leaves; there did not seem to be a single growing thing.
The ground itself was covered with ash and lava. As I neared the
road to Balmora, I heard a now-identifiable growl and spotted a
Nix-Hound up ahead. The creature wasn't blocking the path I
needed to take, so I decided to try to slip past. As I moved
behind a pile of rocks, a nerve-grating "Skreee" sounded high
overhead. It began to rain again; I hoped that would mask my
footsteps and lower the visibility. To my relief, the hound
moved away and whatever had screamed flew over the ridge.
Near the top of the trail, I made out another Legion fort, which
I gave a wide berth. Although it was not a welcome sight, I knew
the fort meant I was near a town or city; the Legion soldiers
don't like to be far from their comforts. Passing the fort, I
moved into a greener country. There was still a fair amount of
bare rock, but the trees were healthier than those in the
blasted area I had passed through. Even in the rain, it was a
lovely place. Soon, I heard the familiar lowing trill of a silt
strider and saw a stone bridge and a city limit obelisk. I had
reached Balmora.
I stood just outside Balmora, the place where I hoped to find
some answers and to perhaps return to my interrupted life.
Crossing the two bridges and nearing the silt strider landing, I
got my first look at the city. It rested between high, rugged
ridges and was split into two sections by a small river. The
buildings constructed mostly of plaster over stone, with flat
roofs to capture the rainfall. Colorful banners or wooden
placards indicated numerous shops and guilds. I had a feeling I
was going to like Balmora. Although the plunder from the outlaw
cave was weighing me down, the package from the Imperial captain
weighed even more, at least in my mind. There would be time to
engage in commerce later; for now I needed to discharge what I
hoped would be my last duty for the Empire. Passing through the
arched entry in the wall of the city, I looked for someone who
could direct me to the South Wall Cornerclub and Caius Cosades.
My eye was immediately drawn to an Argonian, who approached with
the peculiar gait of her kind. I was momentarily taken aback by
her greeting, "The prey approaches," but quickly realized that
for Argonians, that was the equivalent of "Good day." At least I
hoped so. Her name was Hul, and she was the first free Argonian
I had met since coming to Morrowind. Hul cheerfully told me
about Balmora; it had chapter houses for the Mages and Fighters
Guilds, as well as numerous general traders and specialty shops.
The South Wall Club was across the river, at the south end of
Labor Street.
Thanking the Argonian politely (I always try to be polite to
people who have mouths full of pointy teeth), I turned my steps
in that direction. It was interesting to see that, although the
Empire claimed sovereignty over all of Vvardenfell, there were
no Imperial guards. The guards I noticed, and I had picked up
the habit of noticing guards, were dressed in yellowish armor,
including full-face helms with a flaring neckpiece at the rear.
Otherwise they were just like all guards- patrolling, making
sure that no one was loitering or looting- in other words, being
a pain in the neck for your average thief.
I soon reached the South Wall and paused a moment to examine the
building before I went in. It appeared to possess two stories,
and possibly a basement. It was well built, but had seen better
days. As I approached the main door, indicated by a banner
containing what I took to be a picture of a guar, I noted a
series of apparently random scratches low down on the left side
of the doorframe. Then I recalled the words of Yakum, the
Ashlander in Pelegiad- "...the Thieves Guild doesn't have public
guild halls, they mostly meet in corner clubs or tradehouses."
Welcome to Balmora, indeed. Feeling as if a world of
possibilities was about to open before me, I stepped inside.
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