Chapter 5

Dedicated to the memory of Jonajosa. Be at peace, my friend.

Rather than walk back to the Palace, I used an amulet to cast Divine Intervention. Mainly, I chose that means of transport because I was terribly weary. But I admit that it was also a calculated insult to the Tribunal Temple. After all, the spell carried me to the entrance of the Imperial Cult, their religious rival. Once I had been deposited in the Palace courtyard, I mentally prepared myself for my meeting with Tienius Delitian. If possible, I hoped to keep Galsa Andrano’s name to myself- betrayal did not come easily to me. Though she was a member of Almalexia’s Temple, she was not responsible for its misguided choices. Before heading for the throne room, I nipped down the stairs to the basement and exchanged my armor for a robe. While the Dark Brotherhood armor might have served as a pointed reminder of Helseth’s murderous intent toward me, I did not think it wise to appear before his guards dressed as an assassin. While the King’s paranoia might be the product of a guilty conscience, theirs was a professional reflex- one that I preferred not to test. A measure of their caution was the fact that I had yet to lay eyes on Helseth, even in his own throne room. Confronting him with my…righteous indignation was going to be difficult if all he ever did was cower in his private chambers. Of course, he would also have a hard time governing from that position, a prospect that did not make me particularly unhappy. On the other hand, my disagreement with Helseth was personal rather than political, so I rather hoped he would show his sorry face sometime soon.

If Captain Delitian was happy to see me, he disguised it quite well. Stony-faced, he stared at me and queried,

“Have you anything to report? Or have you just been wandering around Mournhold gawking at the sights?”

I was becoming used to his irritating manner, having realized that his baiting was as much an attempt to surprise me into blurting something revealing as because he genuinely disliked me. Besides that, I didn’t really care- I didn’t much like him, either. So I simply smiled blandly at his sneer and described what I had discovered regarding the Temple’s view of his precious monarch. At the end of my recital, he grunted and said,

“Of course, I had someone follow you, so I know that you spent some time with the healer, Galsa Andrano. She certainly speaks her mind, and, from what you say, sounds sincere. You handled her well. The Temple seems to recognize that King Helseth will not be content to be a puppet like King Llethan, and plans to act against us. Very good work, Trey. The king will hear of your loyal service.”

So much for keeping Galsa out of it. Well, I had tried. And perhaps there would not be a confrontation between Temple and king. Better still, maybe someday I would get over the feeling that I was a particularly low form of life that betrayed confidences.

Meanwhile, Delitian had other things on his mind. Motioning for me to follow him out into the hallway, he dropped his voice and said,

“Now you can help us with another matter. King Helseth is concerned about possible disloyalty among the Guards. I've replaced many of the former king's guards with more reliable men. But I had to keep some experienced guards, and I can't be certain of their loyalties. I will pretend you wish to join the Royal Guards. That's your excuse for talking to the guards, sounding them out, and looking for evidence of disloyalty. If you find any hint of treason or evidence of disloyalty, report it to me. Take no action. Report to me, and I will judge what action is appropriate.”

The cover story struck me as being awfully thin, although it would have the advantage of explaining my repeated visits to the captain. Hoping for a bit of guidance, I inquired as to which guards I should investigate. Delitian’s familiar scowl reappeared and he replied,

“It's your judgment I'm testing, not mine. Talk to them yourself. Form your own conclusions.”

The assignment revealed still more of Helseth’s problems- and his errors. I was practically certain now that he was responsible for King Llethan’s death. And it seemed that a number of others had reached the same conclusion- including some of the palace guards. Regardless of whether they had personally liked the old king or not, his safety had been their responsibility…and they had failed to protect him. I had no way of knowing whether Helseth was any good as a ruler, but he had a positive genius for making enemies. So far, he had alienated the Temple, the conservative Dunmer (probably including House Redoran), and some of his own guards. And, oh yes, one insignificant but highly motivated Breton. He was beginning to discover that a major problem with ascending to the throne through assassination was the ideas it put into other people’s heads. Ideas like- if one king can be killed, why not two? Actual justice is often fickle or uncertain, but watching a guilty man squirm in fear of justice can sometimes be an acceptable substitute.

None of these ruminations were getting me any closer to finding out which guards, if any, were contemplating a change in management. The only thing for it was to visit the guard quarters and spread some charm and cash. I briefly entertained the notion of trying to implicate some of the loyal guards, thus weakening Helseth, but realized that Delitian wanted evidence- not just my accusations. I again had to play it straight if I was to have any hope of gaining the king’s confidence.

The guard quarters were functional and little else- each guard had a bed and a locked chest for personal items. The room itself was open and offered no possibility of concealment. A quick glance at the chests showed that the locks were of reasonable quality. I could get past them with sufficient time or with a spell, but the idea of getting caught rummaging through a Royal Guard’s possessions did not appeal to me. My fears were given additional emphasis when a guard wandered through the room, and turned his helmeted head to stare at me. Sighing with disgust, I sat down on a storage chest to consider my options. As I idly traced the badly carved name on the chest, Ivulen Irano, my eyes fell upon a scrap of parchment that had fallen between the chest and the foot of the bed. Thinking it was probably a note inviting the guard out for drinks after work, I picked it up. After some effort to decipher the tiny and nearly illegible handwriting, I understood that it was a copy of guard duty rosters for the past several weeks. Three names were always correctly spelled -- Milvela Dralen, Ivulen Irano, and Aleri Aren -- and those watches when all three were the only guards in the Throne Room were underlined twice. My finely-honed investigative senses told me that this might be what was known in the trade as a “clue.” More to the point, I thought it might be a good idea to talk to Guardsman Ivulen Irano.

Oh my....another masterpiece, with a dedication that nearly made me cry...I thank you treydog for your ability to "make my day" I just came home, went here and found this! what a joy......

I loved the description in this one..I don't know what but it just stood out. <aybe it wasa more casual tone than usual?


What happened to Jona??

Another great addition to the canon of Trey.

very nice Trey, I love the way you put feelings behind your character's words... also great addition that explanes how the people know you finished the quest before you tell them

Based on the rosters, it appeared that Irano was presently on duty in the Throne Room. So as to not be too obvious about it, I first spoke to a couple of other guards before introducing myself to my suspect. Putting on the expression of a prime candidate for the Royal Guard (i.e.-looking barely sapient), I stuck out my hand and said,

“Name’s Trey. I just came over from Balmora and heard that the king might be looking for a few new guards.”

At the mention of Balmora, Irano relaxed a bit and shook my hand. He said,

“What did Tienius Delitian send you to me for? If he wants you to be a Royal Guard, then you'll be a Royal Guard. Nothing to do with me. So you’re over from Balmora? A cousin of mine there works for House Hlaalu. He says there’s lots of ways to make money. Dangerous place, though.”

His reference to House Hlaalu gave me an idea, so I casually remarked,

“Oh, I’ve done some work for Hlaalu myself.”

Impressed, Irano leaned closer and said,

“Oh? Really? Does Tienius Delitian know that? Did you talk to Aleri Aren? You should tell her that you're House Hlaalu. Really. But don't tell Tienius Delitian. Just tell Aleri Aren.”

Of course, I had never said I belonged to Hlaalu, just that I had done some work for them. And that was true- I had killed Ralen Hlaalo’s murderer and collected a reward for that action. But I did nothing to correct Irano’s mistake. Instead, having broken the ice, I asked the dull-witted guardsman how he felt about the death of King Llethan. His eyes grew guarded and he growled,

“You hear folks say old King Llethan was a fool. Well, folks should keep their mouths shut. Maybe he was a fool, but lots of folk are fools. Maybe he had no business being a king, but that's what he was, so folk should show some respect to the old fellow.”

That statement, combined with the note on the guard rosters and the comment about Hlaalu, was probably just what Delitian was looking for. Promising to pass on his greetings to his cousin in Balmora, I took leave of Irano and left the Throne Room. It would not do to rush right over to the captain, so I made my way back to the basement to rest awhile and practice my alchemy skills.

When I judged that Irano’s shift was over (a task made easier by the copied roster), I returned to Delitian to report my findings. He scrutinized the note and said,

“This is Ivulen Irano's handwriting on the note you found. He notes the watches when Dralen, Aren, and Irano are the only guards in the Throne Room. I believe I'll change the watch schedules to prevent that. And I'll need to keep a close eye on all three. Very shrewd work, Trey. You've brought me clear evidence of disloyalty among the guards. I am also interested in this House Hlaalu business. As it happens, Llethan was from Hlaalu. Some of the nobles were not happy about his death. I need your help finding evidence of conspiracy against King Helseth among the Hlaalu nobles.”

Scratching his chin, Delitian continued,

“The old king's Hlaalu supporters haven't accepted King Helseth's accession to the Throne with good grace. Maybe they think that another candidate -- a Hlaalu candidate, for example -- would be better. Maybe they have some plan to express such a preference. If so, I doubt they would be candid about it. But maybe you should search Llethan Manor for documents, diaries or other tangible evidence of such plans.”

On the one hand, I was glad that Delitian did not seem to be contemplating any extreme measures against the guards- I really did not want their deaths on my conscience. But another part of me was becoming quite annoyed at my role as the captain’s hound. It wasn’t that I cared about the corrupt Hlaalu- I just wondered if Helseth was ever going to come out of his bolthole. The whole point of doing these “little favors” for Delitian was to gain the King’s confidence. If it didn’t work, all I was doing was strengthening my enemy. Still, no other course seemed open to me- simply standing in the Palace halls and bellowing for the king to come out and face me like a man would not work. At best, he would simply have his guards confine me or toss me out. At worst, the death of a single Breton adventurer would not cause him to lose any sleep- a fact that was already abundantly clear to me.

I was somewhat surprised to hear that the late King Llethan had maintained a house in the Manor District- I had thought that the king lived in the Palace. As I considered it though, I realized that the living arrangements reflected Llethan’s priorities- he had been House Hlaalu first and King of Morrowind second. Helseth, who was now far from his original home in Wayrest, had little choice but to live in the Palace. Besides that, he intended to be king in fact, not just in name. As I made my way to the Manor District, I tried to think of an excuse for visiting Llethan Manor. Although Llethan was dead, he had almost certainly maintained a substantial household, most of whom would still be around. Hlaalu nobles and their retainers would be much harder to fool than Guardsman Irano- if I claimed House membership, they would certainly ask for some sign or password that proved my claim. Perhaps the best approach would be to express my sympathy for Llethan’s death. That would have the advantage of being true- I was sorry Llethan was dead, even though I had never heard of him before I came to Mournhold. My sorrow was of a more personal nature- if Llethan were still alive, Helseth would not have been around to send assassins after me. Before I realized it, my thoughts had carried me to Llethan Manor. Without knowing what I was about to face, I raised my hand to knock on the ornate door.

Don't know how many times I've replied with this Trey, but another great update you have here in you're great story!

Keep it up!

Another Trey tonight! As usual that means a good read.....so even this installment. Oh those intrigues the old chap is getting himself into.....and hopefully out of also!

Naturally you thought it was time for a cliffie huh? Just to keep us biting our fingernails till it tastes elbow....arr...

May this story never end!

Very nice Trey, Very nice. And I agree with Fuzzy, I don' t know how many times i've replied to your story... but his just gets better

The door was opened by a Bosmer wearing a partial set of Hlaalu bonemold armor. She was rather less than welcoming, as her greeting consisted of:

“I really don’t have time for this, so make it quick.”

When I mumbled some excuse about being there to offer my sympathies for Llethan’s death, she became friendlier, telling me that I should pay my compliments to the widow, Ravani Llethan. With that, she gestured toward an interior door and went back to her guard post. The room off of the entry foyer was obviously the library and it was an impressive one. I spent some minutes studying titles and bindings, a delaying tactic that resulted from my discomfort over my mission as much as from my obsession with books. Still, the time was not wasted, for the titles gave me some clue as to the owners of the library. Along with the more common religious works and histories there were some real rarities, including Book V of The Biography of the Wolf Queen and a well-preserved copy of The Blue Book of Riddles. Perhaps most revealing was the book that lay open on the table- The Alchemists Formulary. Considering all the talk of Helseth-as-poisoner that I had heard, that choice of reading material struck me quite forcibly. Perhaps someone in Llethan Manor had sought the recipe for an antidote or even a preventative against poisoning. Or perhaps it reflected a desperate need to do something long after it was too late. What it was not, though, was the sort of evidence Delitian wanted. With a sigh, I left the books where they were. Although I had sunk quite low, even so low as to doing the bidding of a king I despised, I had not yet reached the place where I would rob a widow.

The second door leading off of the library gave onto a small office that also doubled as a dining room, and it was there that I found Ravani Llethan seated at a small table. Even in her grief, she was an elegant Dunmer lady and I found myself in sympathy with her. Without looking up, she said quietly,

“We must endure our sorrows.”

The sadness in her voice and on her face almost caused me to turn and leave. But I steeled myself to the task at hand. If I was going to win Helseth’s trust, I would probably have to do a number of distasteful things. But if I could ever manage a few moments alone with the murderous king, all would be repaid. Therefore I bowed and told Ravani that I had come to pay my respects to her and the memory of her late husband. She brightened somewhat and thanked me, saying,

“Bless your honorable soul. Few enough have come to pay their respects. People forget their friends when the wind changes.”

How it burned in my belly that she called me “honorable”. I wondered what right I had to come and pick over the bones of her grief, no matter my reasons. Bile rising in my throat, I nevertheless asked her how Llethan had come to die. Eyes flashing, she spoke with quiet fury, replying,

“They murdered him. Helseth and his spiders. Everyone knows, and no one lifts a finger. Imperial justice! Hah! I SPIT on Imperial justice! They killed my husband, and now that wicked man is king. I curse Helseth, and all his kin! May they die tomorrow, weeping, watching their children die today!”

Although I did not doubt that she believed it, I needed to know why she thought Helseth was responsible. And so I probed further, asking,

“How do you know?”

She responded fiercely,

“Everyone knows. It's there in print, for everyone to see, in the broadside sheet called ‘The Common Tongue’. It says Helseth poisoned hundreds of people when he was in the West. If Helseth was a wicked murderer before, why not now?”

Speaking at last from the heart, I told her,

“I promise you, your loss will be avenged.”

With a smile, she grasped my sleeve and told me,

“Bless you. May fortune smile on your blade. There are those among my husband's friends who will not rest until justice is done. I shall mention your name to them.”

With that, she excused herself and stepped out into the library.

What I did next brings me no joy to relate, but I will not compound my sins by lying about them. I had my reasons- let others judge whether they were sufficient to explain my actions. Seizing on Ravani’s momentary absence, I quickly scanned the desk in one corner of the small office and soon espied a hastily scrawled letter, addressed on the outside as follows:



The contents of the letter proved beyond doubt that House Hlaalu intended some move against Helseth. The text stated,



Here then was all the evidence Tienius Delitian could hope for, complete with names and a plan of action. And, like the thief that I was, I took it.

Perhaps that is an unfair characterization, as a thief steals for gain or at least for the thrill of the game. When I took the incriminating letter, I had no hope of either. It was simply one more piece of the trap I was building in hopes of catching a king. Now, years later, I feel remorse for my actions; then, I was beyond morality. The reason was simple- Helseth had tried to have me murdered in my sleep. While it was true that a great many people had attacked me since the first day I came to Morrowind, this was different. When the bandits or smugglers or even Cammona Tong thugs tried to kill me, they did it face-to-face. They did not hide behind others, nor hire some shadowy group to do the deed. They may have lacked honor, but at least they had the courage to face me directly. The king, though, crouched in his chambers and sent out an order- “Kill me this man, this Trey of High Rock.” By all that I held dear, he would regret that order. He would face me one day soon.

With the letter hidden in my sleeve, I entered the library and took my leave of Ravani Llethan. Once I was back outside, I used my Divine Intervention amulet to transport me to the Palace. When I entered the Reception Area, I did not go straight to Tienius Delitian, however. Instead, I went to my temporary lair in the basement. When I arrived, I examined the Hlaalu letter again. And then I took out another letter, the letter that authorized my murder by the Dark Brotherhood. I placed the two papers side by side and then I simply stared at them for a very long time. At last, decision made, I stood up.

Don't ever stop writing, you hear me Trey!?

Once again I love you're updates and how extremely well discriptive they are and how much of Morrowind they carry in them - Keep it up!

Nice update trey
Keep them coming

yes....what Fuzzy said....must agree.....can´t drag myself away from this story.....I actually played that part with the widow..oh my.....And now Trey´s gonna deal with it....besides he might have found something out..

I particularly enjoyed (as usual) Trey's introspection and analysis of his complicated situation. The tensions in Mournhold between the powers-that-be are very strong, and I'm looking forward to seeing how Trey manages to carve a safe path through the dread swamp of Mournhold politics.

Sorry for not commenting sooner Trey but as Minque and I have stated there is alot of fan fiction here now and it's hard to read all of it. I finally noticed the fifth chapter here and read it, I liked how you dedicated it to our lost friend here and the content was very well written so please continue.

Gotta love this fanfic, it is honestly very inspiring Good work!

Sorry for the shorter than usual installment. It was a bad week at the college (finals week), plus I have been sick for the last 3-4 days. Well- at least I didn't have to TAKE any of the finals

From the calm perspective of so many years later, I can see that I actually had many choices for handling the Hlaalu conspiracy and the king. But it is often the case that it is easy to sit in a comfortable chair beside a warm fire and make a reasoned decision about events that are long ago and far away. However, in the moment that was, all I had were my instincts, my (limited) experience, and a burning desire for what I perceived as justice. In a word, all I had was myself. Recall that, in Mournhold, I had no friends, no mentors, no support. There was no Caius Cosades or Athyn Sarethi in whom to confide; and, at that time, even those two had not completely earned my trust. It seemed that everyone I met this city, at least everyone with any real power, only wanted to use me as a help in attaining their own ends. I suppose that I began to act in what I saw as my own self-interest as much in emulation of others as because that was all I could think to do. Whatever the reason, I was forced to rely own my own judgment and to live with the consequences.

In a way, the Hlaalu letter confirmed my most significant problem- it was almost impossible to get close to the king. But I was determined that I would manage the feat; more, I was driven- obsessed with the idea of forcing him to admit his crime and exacting payment for it. Even if it meant giving up the names of the Hlaalu conspirators. After all, what was House Hlaalu to me? Nothing, and less than nothing. I felt a twinge of my sadly stunted conscience over the Widow Llethan, but I rationalized it by insisting that the result would be all she desired. After all, if Helseth was brought low, would she really care how it came about? All of my self-justification did not prepare me for what was to happen. I should have seen it coming, but I was so wrapped in my own misery and anger that I did not. Having steeled myself for the deed, I presented the letter from Llethan Manor to Tienius Delitian. He looked it over carefully, even checking the watermark on the paper. At last, he gave a satisfied grunt and said,

“This letter you've found is very interesting. Forven Berano, Hloggar the Bloody, and Bedal Alen are obviously conspiring to assassinate King Helseth. This is treason, punishable by death. I will immediately draw up writs for their execution.”

His sentences fell like stones upon my soul. The deaths of these men would be upon me. But it was even worse than I had feared, for Delitian wasn’t finished. With a penetrating stare he added:

“You would do the king a great service if you would execute these traitors.”

So this was what all my plotting and planning had brought me- to play executioner for the man who had been trying to have me murdered. The irony was so choking that I could not completely hold back a sick laugh. Delitian apparently misunderstood, as he said,

“It will be completely legal- if anyone questions you, just show them the writs. Here, let me get them for you.”

With that, he went to a small desk at one side of the Throne Room and appropriated three sheets of parchment from a larger stack. In a very short time, he had returned, bearing the documents that would turn me into a hired sword for the king. I could not help but notice that the only item he had needed to write on each warrant was the name of the…victim. Was it so easy then, to hire murder done? Was that how it had been arranged for me? Had someone come to the king or his guardsman and said,

“There’s this fellow in Vvardenfell, goes by the name of Trey. Out of High Rock originally, but more recently from the Imperial Prison. He’s been talking against the Empire- probably a dangerous character.”

My mind raced as I tried to think of a way out of the trap I had built for myself.

“Fool,” I thought, “Of course they would use something like this to test your ‘loyalty.’ What better way to bind a man to you than with the blood on his hands?”

Not knowing what else to do, I accepted the writs from Delitian and left. It seemed that I was in a box this time, with no way out. But, as I made my way out of the Throne Room, I began to have the faintest glimmer of an idea.

Ahh treydog.....you really had to do it huh? A cliffie......naturally a cliffie....Knowing my dear Trey he´ll soon have a plan....a good plan, but maybe it will drag him into trouble..again.

Thing is...I´ll have to wait for that plan...until next update, and that, my dear t-dog, will cause some severe nailbiting......until it tastes elbow..hmmm.

But if I present you with some ....ehhh raisin-bread, or cinnamon-rolls...(yup I know you like them.. ) Could that make you go to the comp, fire up Word, and ....start writing an update???

Slightly shorter than usual but just as well, nicely written and with the end of the last update I really want to know what happens next so continue very soon.

I really want to know what he does so you'd better make it fast.

My idea was simple- I wanted revenge on Helseth; the Hlaalu nobles wanted revenge on Helseth; therefore, we should be able to work together long enough to reach our mutually-desired goal. As a result of my spying for the king, I now possessed the names of three potential allies whose interests coincided with my own. All that remained was to find them and convince them to assist me. Careful inquiries, with much use of the Hlaalu code-word “business,” yielded the following information: Forven Berano was a faithful member of the Temple and could usually be found somewhere nearby. Bedal Alen was an avid reader and spent much of his time in the bookshops. Locating Hloggar the Bloody was a more difficult proposition. The first few people I asked about the Nord simply expressed disgust by more or less demonstrative means and took their leave of me. Finally I remembered Ra’Tesh, the Khajiit bartender at the Winged Guar. He was the closest thing to a friend that I had in Mournhold; more to the point, he had sources of information about the less savory residents and visitors to the city.

When I asked about the Hlaalu retainer, the normally imperturbable Khajiit’s whiskers actually trembled. I had the feeling that his tail was lashing from side to side, as well. Picking up an already clean glass and polishing furiously, Ra’Tesh muttered,

“Ra’Tesh knows of this Hlaalu. Ra’Tesh also knows of the bad Daedra, but he prefers to not speak of them. This Khajiit believes that it is better not to think or speak of evil things lest he draw their attention. Why does friend Trey ask about this evil person?”

Because I did count Ra’Tesh as a friend, I could not tell him the true reason- to do so would put him in the position of either passively agreeing to the scheme or having to report it. That was not the sort of thing I would do to him. So I simply fell back upon the old standard, that I had “business” with Hloggar. Ra’Tesh was still not satisfied and he hissed,

“That one’s ‘business’ is killing. Hlaalu masters say, ‘this person is a problem,’ and call for Hloggar the Bloody. He comes and there is no more problem. What business could you have with such a person?”

I looked Ra’Tesh in the eye and told him,

“The sort of business that you suspect. Please, don’t ask me more. If you know where he is, just tell me. Trust that I know what I am doing.”

Ra’Tesh shrugged as if to indicate that he had done all he could and then said,

“The Nord does not stay in the inns or the houses. Some say this is because the Nord is too cheap to pay for lodging. Ra’Tesh does not think so. Ra’Tesh believes that no decent establishment will rent a room to this Nord. And so, this Hloggar, he stays down in the sewers near the Palace. Ra’Tesh has been told that people have seen a Nord camped in the West Sewers. Perhaps this is the Nord friend Trey seeks. Ra’Tesh does not know. Ra’Tesh thinks friend Trey should forget this ‘business’ with the bloody Nord and have a drink.”

That was probably the best advice I had gotten since I came to Mournhold. And, of course, I did not heed it.

According to my sources, Forven Berano should be the easiest to find, as he spent much of his time in and around the Temple of Almalexia. Although I was not happy about going back into proximity of the Temple, my need drove me. Fortunately, Berano was not actually inside the Temple, but standing on the steps. When I first approached him, he was polite but not encouraging, saying,

“If you seek money, you would do better to find honest labor, rather than begging for alms.”

When I assured him that I was not a beggar, he relaxed slightly and asked me to state my business quickly.

Glancing around to ensure no one was likely to overhear my words, I muttered,

“My business regards King Helseth and what can be done about him.”

At the mention of the king, Berano’s eyes widened, but he gave no other sign, simply repeating the standard phrase,

“Helseth is king now, long live the king.”

I knew that his words were just for show, a bit of protective coloration. Determinedly, I stated,

“Ser Berano, I am aware that you and other individuals seek some means to correct the injustice that was done when Llethan was murdered. I also intend to fight Helseth’s injustice. You should know that he is already aware of you…. Can we not find common cause?”

I carefully did not mention just how it was that Helseth had “become aware” of Forven Berano. While it was certainly relevant, it would have done me no good at all. In the end, it did not matter, for Berano became panicked and said,

“I am sure you are a fine young man, and perhaps even talented with a blade. But you would have no chance against Helseth’s guards. If he is aware of me as you say, I must flee immediately. I thank you for the warning, but if you are wise, you will leave Mournhold. Good day.”

My experience with Bedal Alen was much the same- I found him browsing the books in the shop located in the Great Bazaar. His reaction was less friendly than Berano’s. He looked me over and asked,

“You are a Breton, aren’t you? From High Rock, same place as that pile of guar droppings that calls himself a king. How do I know you aren’t one of his spies? And even if you aren’t, why should I believe that you can accomplish a feat even the Morag Tong refuses to attempt? No, boy, I’ll have none of this. You can go back to your precious king and tell him that Bedal Alen has left Mournhold. For good.”

With that, he cast an Almsivi Intervention spell and was gone. This was not working out at all as I had hoped. So far, two of my hoped-for allies had fled. And now I was left to seek Hloggar the Bloody, to return yet again to the sewers of Mournhold.

Even the best plans back-fire eh?

So my dear Trey....going back into the sewers are we? Seems our Trey always end up in those, in every quest..naturally someone is hiding down there just waiting to make life dangerous for him.

Must say those Hlaalu-nobles are really chickens, it´s like I´ve always known....you just can´t trust a Hlaalu...they are cowards and when you turn your back on them , they just might stab you in the back

Watch it Trey.....we want you to come outta this alive!!! Now if you´re gonna meet with that dreadful Nord, be sure to bring some mead....get him dead-drunk......or better not...if he´s been eating death caps, he might go bezerk....and it will be even worse combined with alcohol..

I hereby quote Trey himself:



Just don´t be too sure this bloody Hloggar won´t eat bretons......


So now I sit here eagerly waiting to find out how Trey will deal with things......

It is sad that Trey's plan isn't working out for him; it would have been a cool twist on the usual storyline. Regardless, I'm glad to see that Bedal and Forven got away. I can't believe he'll have different luck with the Nord, who most likely will see him as something to smash. Maybe Trey will work things out differently?

Thanks for another great update. Since you haven't had one of these in a while, it's definitely overdue: S.G.M.

It was hard to blame Berano and Alen for deciding that escape was their best option. After all, they had never seen me before I came to them with the news that Helseth was aware of their conspiracy and had issued execution writs. The last one left was Hloggar, and even his Hlaalu masters doubted his ability to do the job. Nevertheless, I decided that I owed him the same chance that I had inadvertently given the others; if he wanted to stand and fight the king, I would welcome him; if he wanted to run, I would not hinder him. Just the same, given the Nord’s reputation for violence, I did not really look forward to confronting him in the sewers. It felt rather like going into the den of a hungry bear to ask what he would like for dinner.

Somehow, I had missed Hloggar’s camp when I had been engaged in the goblin hunt- the bodies of the goblins and their durzog pets merely added another layer to the miasma of the sewers beneath the Palace. The fact that Hloggar had managed to stay alive down here despite the presence of the goblin army spoke volumes about his martial skills. Once I reached the West Sewers, I made my way to a side tunnel that I had not explored and soon saw a massive armored figure standing beside a small fire. Bones and empty drink bottles were scattered around a simple bedroll, and a small crate did service for a chair. Keeping my hands well away from my sword, I stepped into the light and called,

“Hello, the camp. May I approach?”

That was more than common courtesy- it was common sense. Only a fool walked up on a stranger unannounced in a place like the sewers. And if one were not a fool and was ill-intentioned… well, then he did not walk up at all, but instead let loose an arrow or five from the shadows. The man that turned to regard me would have been right at home in a bear’s den- and he might not bother to ask the bear to move out, first. If he had been clad in animal pelts instead of battered Imperial silver armor, I would have wondered if I had gone back a thousand years or more to the time that men lived in caves. His face could have done service as the stone wall of a cave, as well, complete with the ancient markings of his ancestors. After giving me a long, considering look, the massive Nord spoke:

“Come forward, then, and be welcome or be damned. It makes no difference to me. If ye’ve come for a drink or a fight or to hear a saga or even for all three, well then, speak yer pleasure and ye shall have it. I am Hloggar the Bloody, son of Einar the Rover, and I can out-drink and out-fight anything that walks on two legs or four. I be not a skaal, but I can tell a tale that’ll curl that fine blonde hair on yer head. Ye have the look of a Breton, but I’d vow that the rovers of Skyrim must have visited yer village in the past- yer eyes have the look of the sea in ‘em, damn me if they don’t.”

He stopped then and took a massive gulp from a jug of sujamma, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. With a rumbling belch, he offered the jug to me and added,

“Ach, that yarnin’ is thirsty work. Now, who be ye and what be yer business?”

Although I really did not like the taste of the fiery alcohol, I took the jug and forced down a swallow of sujamma. That was how it was done- we might fight later, but I had taken a drink with him, which meant that the rules would be observed. The rules that said even if we tried to kill each other, we would give fair warning before the ear-biting, eye-gouging, and other mayhem commenced. That was civilized conduct in Nord society.

There did not seem to be any reason to waste time, so I just got right to the point.

“Look, Hloggar, here’s how it is- Helseth wants you dead. He hired me to do it. But I have a different idea- how about we team up and finish off the little scrib? You should know that Forven Berano and Bedal Alen have already left town, so you’re on your own.”

Hloggar thought over my words for some time, tugging gently on his beard as he considered. At last, he heaved a great sigh and shook his head.

“Nay, lad, nay. ‘Twould be a grand fight and all, yerself and me against Helseth and all his bully-boys. But there’s no guarantee that we would win. The two of us against all of them would be a worthy saga, but I don’t really believe that I would be around to hear it sung. Besides that, who would pay me? Nay, I love a good scrap, but I love the clink of coin in my purse, too. Berano and Alen have slipped anchor, ye say, so there’s no chance of getting any money. I thank ye for the warning, and now I’ll be on my way.”

With that, he activated a Recall amulet and left me standing beside his abandoned camp.

I was sorely tempted to finish off whatever alcoholic beverages the Nord had left behind, but soon thought better of it. His hideout was not all that far from the place where I had confronted a large group of goblins- there might still be a few lurking in the tunnels. Besides, if I was going to come up with a way to defeat Helseth, I would need a clear head. As had always been true, I was on my own. It was no surprise that the Hlaalu had all run from the fight when I offered them the chance for vengeance- their concept of honor was all about profit and loss. There was nothing for it but to go back to the Palace and report to Tienius Delitian. Of course, I would have to come up with a reasonable story to explain my “failure.” Fortunately, Delitian had finally made a mistake when he admitted to having me shadowed during the Temple informant mission. I had managed to spot and slip away from all of his spies. No one should be able to report my actual conversations with the Hlaalu- I hoped. As I thought about Delitian’s possible angry reaction, I began to get an idea. The best way to win a fight was to do so before it even started. And the way to do that was to get in the first punch.

The guard captain actually looked a little startled when I stormed into the Throne Room and started shouting.

“Look, Captain, I’ve done everything you asked me to do. And I think that I have done it well. So I don’t appreciate being set up to take the blame for your failures! What were you playing at, sending me out after a bunch of Hlaalu who had already got the word and left town?”

With that, I drew out the writs of execution and threw them at his feet. I found that, rather than having to manufacture the semblance of anger, my main effort was in keeping my real rage in check. Of course, the cause of that anger was not that the Hlaalu had been tipped off, but rather the way I was being used. Not giving Delitian a chance to respond, I continued:

“Anyway, I’m starting to get a little suspicious of these ‘orders from the king.’ You keep telling me ‘the king wants this, the king wants that, the king is pleased.’ All I see is you giving the orders. Where is the king, anyway? Is he even here? Or is this all just your own independent operation?”

Sanity came back like a splash of cold water, as I realized that this man could cut me down where I stood, and no one would bat an eye. My tirade ran out of steam, and Delitian finally had a chance to get a word in. With his usual dogged focus on the task at hand, he ignored my pointed questions and instead asked,

“Forven Berano, Hloggar the Bloody, and Bedal Alen have escaped? All three? There must be a leak here at the Palace. Well, you've done the best you could. You have my thanks. But still, it was a failure, you must agree. Perhaps if you had been quicker, you might have caught up with them. But that is done. For now, I have a new assignment. I'd like your help finding the anonymous writer of 'The Common Tongue'.”

Suppressing a groan, I folded my arms and asked,

“You want me to find the writer…and then what?”

Blandly, the captain said,

“We'd like you to persuade him to stop printing such lies about King Helseth. When we make official inquiries, people just look stupid and assure us they have no idea what we are talking about. We think you may have better luck -- particularly if you approach less-reputable citizens -- persons who place profit above honor. Ask around and discover who is writing these lies. Then find him and persuade him to stop printing lies. The manner of the persuasion is left to your discretion. You WILL be discreet, of course. We don't want to appear to be threatening the time-honored Imperial traditions of encouraging free speech.”

I managed to throttle my immediate response, which was to point out that nothing in the broadsheet could precisely be called “a lie.” It probably would not aid my cause to blurt out that I thought the king was perhaps the most devious, murderous creature I had ever heard of this side of Oblivion. Perhaps that was where he was spending his time, trading stories with Mephala and Clavicus Vile. Wherever he might be hiding, it did not matter. For now I had another “little job” to do for him. Yet again, I would have to seek out someone who should have been my ally and deliver him into the hands of my enemy. Going back to cleaning out a stable was starting to look better and better. At least with that job, a bath would make me feel clean again.

An Update!! Trey your stuff is the BEST!!!!

Another excellent installment, as always. It might do Trey some good to learn a little more self control; his temper is putting him dangerously close to trouble. Perhaps he would make a good Nord after all, since he likes to "dance close to the fire." I hope he doesn't allow his almost blinding rage against Helseth to get in the way of his better judgement.

So here is a birthday gift (in the hobbit tradition) for the one or two folks who are still reading. Enjoy

In order to find the writer of “The Common Tongue,” I would need to find someone likely to have contacts with the less savory elements in Mournhold. More important- that someone would have to be corrupt enough to tell what they knew for a little gold. I was aware that Delitian’s remark about people who “placed profit above honor” had been another of his gibes at me, but I had not been bothered by it. Regardless of what the captain thought, I was going along with him in order to exact revenge, not for any profit. And if I had wished to bother, I might have asked a few pointed questions about the so-called “honor” of a man who was complicit in the murder of the rightful king, his heir-apparent, and anyone who had the temerity to protest those murders. While it was true that I had blood on my hands, I had never been a murderer. None of which brought me any closer to tracking down the sort of informant I needed. Turning my thoughts back to the task at hand, I made a mental catalog of all whom I had met during my sojourn in this gloomy city. The denizens of the Temple and the Palace I dismissed out of hand- none of them were likely to move in the proper circles. Neither did I wish to impose further on Ra’Tesh, having strained our friendship as much as I dared over the business with Hloggar. As I tried to think of anyone I had met who seemed suitably shifty, I had a flash of insight- Ten-Tongues Weer-Hat, the shady pawn-broker. He might be just the lizard I needed to see- people gave all kinds of information to pawn-brokers, and I had already discovered that his business was not completely legitimate. Better still, I had already bought his cooperation- with any luck at all, he would have stayed bought.

When I first entered the shop, the Argonian was all smiles, almost as if he was really happy to see me. Somehow, that view of his pointy teeth did not fill me with a feeling of security. Of course, as soon as I stated my purpose, the smile disappeared altogether. He hissed and said,

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just buy a nice scroll? I can give you the loyal customer discount….”

I just shook my head and said,

“Maybe some other time. For now, I need to know who is printing the broadsheet.”

Lapsing into a street-dialect I had not heard since leaving Cyrodiil, Ten-Tongues related the following story:

“Here's what I've heard. I've heard that the guy who writes 'The Common Tongue' is someone named Trels Varis. Now, this is not a name known to me personally. I make it a habit to know the names of people in Mournhold personally. And this guy I do not know. And other people I talk to also do not know. Which is noteworthy in itself. I make the guess that this guy is well-hid, and wants to stay well-hid. But where do I first hear about this guy? In the Craftsmen's Hall. So maybe that is one place to look.”

Just to keep the pawn-broker happy, I bought one of his “special” scrolls. It seemed like a good idea- the way things were going, I needed all the good will I could salvage. And then it was time to take a walk over to the Craftsmen’s Hall for a talk with Master Smith Bols Indalen. And while I walked, I tried to recall where I had previously encountered the name “Varis.”

When I asked Bols about Trels Varis, his eyes darted to a door to one side of the main room, and then he shrugged and said,

“Let me make myself perfectly clear. There's no one named Trels Varis here. Ask me again, and I'll tell you the same thing.”

He may have been a master crafter, but he was a terrible liar. And I should know. That was often the way it went with people who were basically honest- they didn’t have enough practice at concealing the truth, so they weren’t very good at it. Cursing myself and the circumstances that had brought me to such a pass, I pressed him,

“So, what about that locked door, over there?”

Bols grew even more agitated and mumbled,

“I keep my more valuable supplies there under lock and key. If it's any of your business.”

He turned away and began banging furiously on a piece of heated metal, a clear hint that the conversation was over.

For the sake of thoroughness (and because I truly hated the idea of what I was about to do), I wandered through the rest of the Hall rather than going straight to the mysterious door. My explorations revealed some peculiar characters, but I saw no evidence of a printing operation. If the pawn-broker had told the truth, the press that printed “The Common Tongue” and the people who operated it were here. And they were behind that locked door. Waiting until Bols’ back was turned, I gave the lock a quick study. It was a serious piece of hardware, one that I was not sure I could defeat by physical means. And even if I could, it would mean a long time fiddling about with lock-picks, all while standing out where anyone could see me. What I needed was a scroll. To be precise, I needed a scroll with the spell called “Ekash’s Lock-Splitter.” And I had a feeling I knew who could sell me one- a certain Argonian who dealt in “special items.”

O-o.....Now the dear Trey is stepping on thin ice....as we say here....Would he dare to split that sturdy lock? I mean judging from his past he usually ends up managing his tasks but as the tale continues he seems to get deeper into trouble in every part...

As always the description of Trey´s thoughts and contemplations are getting us closer to him, really getting us under his skin!

So let´s stay tuned here until the revelation occurs......

You've got more than one or two still reading, I can tell you that. Great chapter.

Couldn't say it better myself Minque - Great birthday update Trey, more... more.. moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooore

Yay for more Trey
I like the moral debates that go on in his head throughout this story, brings the whole thing to life so much more

Trey has certainly been making good use of his many contacts in Mournhold. Somehow, I fear he is going to run out before he's completed his vendetta against Helseth. Perhaps he should consider spending some time re-cultivating his contacts, ensuring that the strains he has placed on his relationships with them do not somehow act against him. I am curious to see how he chooses to deal with the printers once he finds them.

As I had expected, Ten-Tongues was more than happy to sell me a couple of the scrolls I needed. While I was there, I decided to see if he could help me remember where I had heard the name “Varis” before. The Argonian rubbed his scaly forehead with a clawed hand and said,

“Well, let’s see. There’s a couple of older parties that work around the Temple- Gee-Pop Varis and Granny Varis. He’s a gardener and she’s a caretaker. Nice Dunmer couple, real loyal to the Temple.”

That explained it- I had encountered Granny Varis when she berated me for tracking mud into the Reception Area of the Temple. Although I did not really want to go back around the Temple, I also was hesitant to rush right back to the Craftsmen’s Hall. A little side-trip to discover if the elder Varis’ were related to Trels might provide some time for the folks in the smithy to calm down after my previous visit. And there was more to my decision than simple delaying tactics- I still did not know my way around the snake-pit that was politics as practiced in Mournhold. The more information I could get, the safer I would be. The delay might also give me time to come up with something to say if I actually found the writer of “The Common Tongue.” It was clear that someone who was bold enough to publicly call Helseth a murderer would not be overawed by the sight of a single spindly Breton.

A leisurely stroll around the Temple grounds soon revealed an aged Dunmer with a shock of white hair, dressed in sewn hides. He was leaning meditatively on a rake, staring out over the carefully-tended plantings. As I approached, he said,

“This park, these plants- are hymns of praise, sera. And I’m right proud of it.”

Coming from another person, it might have sounded ridiculous, but the sincerity with which he spoke resonated inside of me. Here was a simple, faithful elf, taking joy and pride in working with the soil. I spent some time discussing plants and their care with him, then asked,

“So, are you any relation to Trels Varis? He hasn’t been around lately….”

The old elf blurted out,

“My son, Trels Varis?”

Then stopped before slowly adding,

“He's in Kragenmoor, out west near Cyrodiil. He's a scholar in a private Temple school.”

Again I had occasion to note that essentially truthful folk are not good liars. But I kept that observation to myself as I thanked the gardener for his time and departed. My next stop was the Temple Reception Area, and I made sure that my boots were clean before I entered. Granny Varis was at her post, sweeping the floor and polishing the already gleaming fixtures. When I asked her about her son, she said,

“Which one? Trels? Well. Yes. That's the name of one of my sons. Trels Varis. But I have no idea where he is right now. Haven't seen him recently.”

Putting on a frown of incomprehension, I said,

“That’s odd. Gee-Pop said he had gone to Kragenmoor.”

The caretaker snorted and replied tartly,

“My husband says he's in Kragenmoor? Old fool. What does he know? He'd forget his head if it weren't jammed tight on his neck.”

With a smile, I made some excuse about how I had perhaps misunderstood. And then I got out of there before Fedris Hler or some other Temple official spotted me and asked for something that would probably involve me risking death and dismemberment.

On the way back to the Craftsmen’s Hall, I contemplated some seemingly unrelated facts. Fact: Someone was printing a broadsheet aimed at blackening Helseth’s reputation. Fact: The Temple of Almalexia was in a power-struggle with Helseth. Fact: The supposed writer of the broadsheet was a member of a family that was highly supportive of the Temple. These facts could fit any of a number of situations, but a picture was taking shape in my head. The picture featured a young, idealistic Dunmer, loyal to the Temple and trained in rhetoric at a Temple school. In the background was a shadowy figure, someone with a history of working behind the scenes. And that mysterious someone whispered a few suggestions to the young Dunmer and provided him with some gold- just for supplies and to hire some assistants, of course. And, most important of all, the shadowy figure provided the sort of detailed information that would give a campaign of rumors plausibility. So, if I assumed my picture was accurate, what would happen if the plot were exposed? The young Dunmer, being idealistic, would never reveal the source of his information or his funding. And the Temple? No doubt, the Temple would be,

“Shocked, shocked I tell you, to find this sort of thing going on in the Craftsmen’s Hall.”

All of that contemplation provided an explanation that fit the facts, but it did not seem to provide me with any clue about what I should do. Perhaps if Trels Varis was where I suspected he was, on the other side of that locked door in the Craftsmen’s Hall, my surmises could save both our lives. And that struck me as a worthy goal. After all, it is rather more difficult to kill someone right after you have chatted with his parents.

I just got on and saw this...it seems that I missed the last update.

I caught up with you and your work is as good as ever, don't worry about losing your audiance Trey there are still plenty of people that can't wait to see your updates my friend.

So long as you keep writing you can bet that I'll be reading, just keep it up and finish your story. A few things that really set your story aside from so many others is that you allow us to know what Trey is thinking throughout the entire story, you can write well, and you keep the character's ways of solving problems realistic/believable, the rest is just gravy.

If you can understand any of that rambling I'm just saying good job and telling you that your work is appreciated so keep it up man.

Mr Oven just about said all I´d want to say about this story. A day with a new installment is a good-day!, a wonderful day.....

Please give me more good-days!!

Darn, I missed quite a few updates here. Just caught up, and it's as impressive as ever. One of my favourite all time stories, going from strength to strength.

Life is good

As I stood before the locked door in the Craftsmen’s Hall, I did not feel any closer to an answer than I had before. One thing I knew, I would do everything in my power to avoid killing Trels Varis, even if it meant abandoning my quest for vengeance. I believed that Trels was being used by the Temple, just as I had been used by a number of powerful factions. In my estimation, that made us natural allies. There was nothing for it but to hope he saw things the same way. Leaning against the wall beside the door, I practiced being inconspicuous. At last, when both the smith and his apprentice were hammering with great energy (and even greater noise), I spoke the words that released the power of the Lock-Splitter scroll. The parchment vanished from my hands and a lurid purple glow momentarily emanated from the door. There was a muffled crunch of metal stressed beyond its limits, and the door swung open. To my initial disappointment, there seemed to be nothing on the other side but a tiny closet, lined with shelves. The shelves contained raw glass, ebony, and adamantium- the materials required for expensive armor and weapons. Perhaps Bols Indalen’s apparent deceptiveness had just been a case of indigestion… but then I saw the trapdoor in the floor.

I despise trapdoors, whether they are in the floor or the ceiling. There is no way to navigate one carefully and maintain any sort of defense. It is practically impossible to climb a ladder and hold a weapon. The other method- jumping through without using the ladder- has the advantage of surprise, but you don’t know what you might land on. And it is not always a good thing to surprise some people or creatures. They might have unfortunately fast reflexes and a strong aversion to being startled. Meanwhile, none of my inner complaining about architecture was doing anything about seeing what the trapdoor concealed. Muttering a curse, I levered the door up and descended the ladder in the conventional manner. When I turned to survey my surroundings, I beheld a rectangular room that appeared to have once been a tailor’s workplace. In addition to the spools of thread and the treated animal hides, it contained four Dunmer, none of whom looked thrilled to see me. The first fellow I approached waved me off, saying,

“I just work here, if you want to talk, talk to the boss.”

There was little doubt as to which of the others he was referring - Trels Varis was a tall, powerful elf, with smoldering eyes. I had envisioned an idealistic Dunmer in my earlier musings- in that much, at least, I had been proved correct. Before I had a chance to present myself to him, the leader looked me over and asked,

“What are you doing here? And may I suggest you make your answer very clear, because this office and what we do here is a well-kept secret. And we wish to keep it a secret, even if it means that you do not leave here alive.”

That was plain enough. And now my resolve to avoid conflict would be tested. There are times to bluff and times to speak plainly. Wisdom lies in being able to reliably discern which is which. I could possibly pass myself off as a working thief who had simply stumbled on this operation by accident or perhaps make a jest that would disarm the Dunmer sufficiently that he would allow me to leave. But if I left, I would lose the grudging respect I had finally begun to win from Tienius Delitian. He would view it as my second failure in a row, and would probably dismiss me as a hopeless bungler. His respect held no value for me, but with it would come access to the king. And I would risk much for that opportunity. I must take the chance. And if I miscalculated and Trels Varis attacked, I could activate my Divine Intervention amulet and end the fight without having to strike a blow. As I debated with myself, I seemed to hear sand running through a glass and to see resolve shaping in Varis’ eyes. Therefore I said,

“I have no wish for a fight. No doubt, the four of you could seriously injure and possibly kill me. And I make no idle boast when I vow that I could take most if not all of you with me. And that would be a tragedy. For I believe that we want the same thing- an end to Helseth’s murderous reign in Mournhold. You may find my reason for being here peculiar, and I can give you no further assurance than my word that it will be to your benefit. What I have come here to ask is that you stop printing stories about Helseth.”

The tension was momentarily broken by Varis’ incredulous laugh. Recovering his composure, he said,

“I’ve only printed the truth. And I intend to keep on printing the truth in ‘The Common Tongue’—unless you think you can stop me.”

With his last words, the tension was back in full force, and the other Dunmer began to edge closer to me. Time seemed to slow as my mind moved in lightning calculations. But this time, I was not looking for angles of attack or considering which opponent might be the most dangerous. Instead, I sought a way to stop Trels Varis without bloodshed. Outright bribery would not work- this was a man who prided himself on his ideals. Gold held no power over him. But…what about the things that gold could allow one to accomplish- particularly if one were an idealist? Making no move toward my weapons, I smiled and told him,

“I believe a donation of 3000 gold to the Widows and Orphans Fund will stop you.”

The progression of emotions across Trels Varis’ face was a joy to watch. He had been preparing himself for a fight or for an attempt at bribery or bluster. And so he opened his mouth to reject what I was saying, but then my actual words finally registered. He simply stood, open-mouthed, for as long as it might take for a man to draw three breaths, and then he responded with a slow, answering smile of his own.

“You are a shrewd judge of character. I am a man of principle and I would not hold my common tongue for a payment of gold. But I know the benefits it can provide if it is used in a good cause. Very well. You have my word. I will not discuss King Helseth in ‘The Common Tongue.’ And I will contribute your gold to the Widows and Orphans Fund.”

Then, exchanging his smile for a frown, he added,

“Now, if you will excuse me, we will have to relocate our operation.”

I made no reply to the implication that I was not trustworthy, but simply passed over the promised gold. I had no fear that Trels Varis would do other than what he had promised- I knew that he prized his integrity as much as he did the ragged workman’s clothing he wore.

Of all the tasks I had performed for Captain Delitian, I was most satisfied with this one. Although I was sorry that “The Common Tongue” would no longer publish the truth about Helseth, I took comfort in the fact that the stories already published could not be recalled. People would remember and they would draw their own conclusions. The gold was well-spent, too- I could not conceive of a better use for it. When I reported my success to the captain, using suitably vague terms so as not to reveal the identity of the writer, he stood silent for a time and then queried me in a completely neutral voice:

“So. You found the anonymous writer of 'The Common Tongue'. And he gave you his word that he would not discuss King Helseth in 'The Common Tongue'. And you gave him 3000 gold to contribute to the Widows and Orphans Fund.”

Because I felt so good about the results I had achieved, I let slip a facetious reply, which I nevertheless managed to express in a sincere tone,

“Well, yes. I felt that it was a small sacrifice in the service of the king.”

How I was able to utter that load of manure with a straight face, I still do not know. Perhaps it had something to do with my recent musings on the inability of basically honest people to lie successfully. In any event, the result was beyond anything I could have imagined. For the first time in my memory, Delitian’s stony face broke into a genuine smile and he actually reached out to clap my shoulder in a comradely fashion. Motioning to one of the other guards, who stepped forward with a sheathed sword, the captain spoke in a booming voice, saying,

“We place great trust in your judgment, and we are very satisfied with your service and sentiments. You shall have 3000 gold to cover your expenses, and a rich reward and great honor besides. I give you a 'King's Oath' blade -- exactly like those used by the Royal Guard. Only those sworn to the king's service and tested by great trials may use them. They bear deadly curses that kill thieves and traitors.”

With a brief bow, he presented the sword to me and then said more quietly,

“And there's one last official matter. Go to Lady Barenziah. She's asked to speak with you.”

That bit of news froze the smile upon my face. While it was true that I had been anxious for a meeting with a certain royal person, it was the king and not his lady mother. From all I had heard of her, I feared that her eyes might well pierce all of my subterfuge and see straight through to my heart’s desire. And what might happen then I feared to contemplate.

Here Ends Chapter 5

Wohoo...I'm the first one to answer.

You dont need to worry about getting few readers, we read it, but dont always have enough time to answer.

I myself credit your work faaaar too few times, but I do read it, and I simply love the intricatenes of Trey, his thoughts the way you describe things in great detail, and all those other small peaks of interests.

But all in all, a great update, and a good ending to chapter five

Great chapter!

Hehe, can't wait to see what Barenziah has to say to Trey

It was good to see Trey avoid bloodshed in his meeting with the printers. I do feel somewhat sad that he has not managed to win any real allies in Mournhold. I can't help but feel that this foreshadows a future abandonning of his vengeance quest against Helseth. I guess I'll have to wait and see what chapter 6 brings.

Fair dues...It's a damned lonely time for Trey isn't it?...

While most of the "friends" we pick up in the game tend to be imagined anyways...Although, yes people's disposition towards you change with what you do in Oblivion and Skyrim so that makes it easier to imagine they're your friend...

Um...Er...

Oh yes!...

As one of the other commenters mentioned, he's got no-one he can really call ally there at all... ...

Brilliantly done though...

That's one thing I've not mentioned...That although I say it's all Morrowind...Obviously it isn't, 'cause I've never noticed the internal monologue going on when I'm playing...Well, not Trey's at least... ...

The way it's written as a much later relating of a tale is just so brilliant...The whole creative wossnames needed to give such depths to the actions of the game...Just goes to show another layer of awesome that you posess... ...

I've absolutely loved the whole "I'm working for a man I despise, doing work I hate just to further my own ends..." Hang on...Am I talking about me or Trey here?...Um...No, wait...Trey...Yes, the whole soul destroying, well, soul wounding, at least, stuff he found himself doing "In the name of the King" was both brilliant to read and easy to sympathise with...Yes, in order to get to a King so you can murder him requires his trust, and in order for you to be trusted requires you to do anything he wishes...Of course...And if said King is a murdering despot...Then murdering despot you must be also... ...

But I loved the way he managed to not kill anyone...Even though there were those he got in trouble about the place... ...

Loving going through it all...Fantastic story...Amazing stuff...

Nice one!!...

*applauds heartily*...