Settled in the City

My concerns about survival in the wilderness were reenforced as I trekked around the walls of the city.  Even here, on the isle in Lake Rumare that hosts the greatest city in the empire I saw a wild boar.  There was a time in my life that a wild boar would have immediately made me think of roast pork.  Today, it made me think of climbing a tree.  I hastened on my way, thankfully unobserved.
No doubt that men and mer are even more dangerous than the creatures of the woods, but they are more appropriately managed by my weakened abilities.  Though my skills are rusty, they are serviceable enough.  Today was a day of hiding...in plain sight.

Dressed in foul smelling and ill fitted prison garb and castoffs there was no possibility of entering the city directly.  My approach had to be through the waterfront.  I reached a high slope overlooking the harbor and settled in to gather information.

It has been many years since I was here last, but the waterfront has not changed.  The harbor of the Imperial city is protected from the storms that sometimes ravage the lake by a barrier island.  The island is too low to obstruct the winds, so a wall of warehouses built of sturdy stone was erected long ago to fortify it.  A causeway connects the island to the city, splitting the harbor into two bays.  Beyond the wall of warehouses stand the ragged shacks that provide homes and businesses of the poorest sort.  A place where prison clothes and castoffs are less remarkable than most places.
 
The twisting alleys of that meanest quarter were my goal.  To get there I would have to either swim, which would draw far too much attention, or cross the causeway.  Timing the rounds of all the city watch as they roamed the docks was easy enough, but proved that getting across unobserved would be out of the question.  At some point on the causeway I would have to pass a watchman, and in my disheveled state he would not likely pass me.

The solution that presented itself came from the ship moored directly below the hill I was watching from.  She had obviously been docked for some time.  Her deck was clear of cargo, and her crew apparently gone on liberty to explore the city, for the most part.  One man worked on some fittings, but as the day wore on he too completed his tasks and left the ship.  The heavy blacksmith's apron that he was wearing he left draped on an empty crate on the dock near the gangway.

This nearest pier was on the route of a single watchman, and at the end of his route at that.  I had ample time to slide quietly down the slope to the pier.  The apron covered enough of my rugged garb.  I rolled all that I had acquired into a bundle with the butt of a staff sticking out one end and the tip of a shortsword protruding slightly at the other.  Carrying this bundle across my arms it covered the manacles on my wrists.  With this meager disguise I boldly approached the watchman as he came along the dock.

"Excuse me," I said, "could you tell me where I might find a forge?"  A guard is always less suspicious when you approach them than when they approach you.  In this case the bored watchman placed me cleanly into his routine and courteously laid out my options.  It worked so well that I briefly considered entering the tunnel that leads under the wall of the city, which could have delivered me directly to the Merchant's quarter, but I decided that getting too far from the waterfront would press the limits of my disguise.  Besides, at some point I would need a smith's tools to strike off the manacles, and the poorer the smith the less likely they would be to ask questions.

My bundle and apron got me across the causeway without incident, and a smithy with its sign hanging somewhat askew provided all that I could have hoped for.  A Dunmer, retired from smithing but too disinterested to take down the sign, was happy enough to swap tales from Morrowind while I used his very worn but well cared for tools.  He even took the heavy apron to a nearby shop and traded it for some clothing a bit less ragged than my own.  Those I fed into the fire.  The new shirt had sleeves that would cover the abrasions that the manacles had left on my wrists.

From there my path was easy.  A passage through the tunnel, looking like a sailor, stopping to ask a watchman for the turning to the merchant district.  A stop in a shop along the way for another set of clothes, this time sturdy but fashionable linens that would put the waterfront behind me.  A bath in the public baths of the merchant district to free me of the smell of prison, and another fire to feed the sailor disguise into after donning the linens.  And finally a check in at this inn, looking for all the world like a traveler come to the city to sell my wares...though the bundle is admittedly still a bit smelly.
<->

Today was mostly uneventful.  I plied my meager wares in the merchant's district after waking from my glorious night of sleep in an actual bed.  The bundle, reduced considerably in size, was easy enough to remove the smell from as well by the simple expedient of tossing everything that had not been sold that still carried the stench of prison into the fire at the bathing house.  I acquired a few sets of suitable clothing and established myself as a visitor considering taking up residence in the city.
This state of affairs allows me to tour the city at will.  I took advantage of this by first renting a room in the Elven Gardens district to unload myself of my burdens and then going for a jog around the city.  Imprisonment was not kind to my endurance, and it may take some time to build up my wind.  The Imperial City is large enough to provide sufficient track and crowded enough that one man running is not particularly notable.  A cheerful wave to the guards at all the various gates was sufficient in most cases, and for the few who had questions a traveler running for his health was apparently sufficient explanation.  My persuasiveness was not sustained by long periods of solitary confinement, but did not dissipate completely.

After my run I returned to the market for another bath and to launder my running clothes.  While they dried in a bath house locker I browsed among the shops.  My limited funds will not allow for much in the way of buying, but merchants are usually eager to talk and forgiving of errors.  Eliminating the Morrowind accents and slang that I had mastered can only be accomplished with practice, so I must have conversation.  It also never hurts to have friends.
<->

I have continued my explorations as well as my practice.  I moved again, after my morning run.  The district adjacent to the Elven Gardens area is centered around a central plaza which contains a large statue of Talos.  The only lodgings available here were in a rather grand establishment called the Tiber Septim Hotel.  It was too expensive, so I moved on.  The next district also has a large central plaza, this time hosting the Temple of the One.  I took a room in a nearby establishment, enjoying the reasonable rates one would expect to be charged to pilgrims.

In checking in, I took on the persona of a pilgrim.  Not just for the sake of fitting in, but for the practice.  In changing my lodgings I am giving myself the opportunity.  Innkeepers see a great variety of people, so inns are good places to practice being someone other than who you are.  Whatever claims I may make will be forgotten, along with my face, long before they can come back to haunt me.

I knew that running and conversation would not be sufficient to restore my skills though.  I require practice in more...confrontational pursuits.  With that in mind I donned my cheapest clothing, strapped on sword and quiver, slung my bow and my shield on my back, and set out to explore the sewers under the city.  In my passage out of the prison the sewer offered rats, goblins, and the hard shelled mud crabs, all of which would make better practice than slashing at sparring dummies.
There are also useful things one can learn about a city in its sewers.  For my first foray I chose a manhole in the city arboretum.  This beautiful park seemed an odd place for a manhole.  It also seemed an odd place for an armed man carrying a bow, at least in the eyes of the watch.  Once they were assured that I meant no harm to the rabbits and fawns that reside in the gardens I was allowed entry and made my way to the manhole.

The access closed above me through some sort of spring mechanism, and I descended a ladder into the gloom.  The tunnels offered exactly what I was seeking; a rat here, a mudcrab there, no great difficulty keeping to the ledges above the slimy waters in the channels.  I also discovered something that turned out to be no secret; a passage outside the city walls.

I say that it was no secret, because when I emerged from the manhole I was immediately accosted by the city watch.  Fortunately, it was a guardsman I recognized and I was able to convince him that I was neither smuggling anything into the city nor trying to avoid the guarded entry gates for other nefarious reasons.

A possible access to the city then, but the manhole in the arboretum being so close to the grated egress to the lakeshore makes it far too obvious to use.  There were two connecting tunnels that I did not explore.  They lead in the direction of the city's arena, and the stink of blood was very strong.  I will have to explore under the arena at some point, but opted to put that off.
<->

I have returned to the Elven Gardens district, which boasts a second hostel.  My options in the city are running short, and I am nowhere near ready to depart into the wilderness.  That became clearly obvious today.  Fortunately, Mr. Luther Broad bills his inn as a 'boarding house' and as such his patrons are generally expected to stay for longer periods anyway.  I introduced myself to him as an investigator, seeking information regarding certain ancient Dwemer artifacts transported from Morrowind long ago; very valuable, so keep it quiet.  I suspect he took a first impression that I was a bit of a crack pot, which should be a useful diversion of his attention.

As has become my habit, my change of lodgings coincided with my morning run and a bath.  Spending time each morning in the public bath house and common areas of the market district has given me time to practice my reading of people and groups.  Today I took some time to verify or disprove my observations.

I correctly deduced that the local merchants are mostly involved in a sort of cartel.  They call it an association, but as always when merchants associate its purpose is to fix prices for their mutual benefit.  I had a need for alchemical ingredients, and took the opportunity to ask the proprietor of the shop about it, as I had noted him as an active member.  He identified a Nord woman named Jensine as the leader of the group.

I was disappointed that I had not made this identification myself, but I had not been in the woman's shop.  Something about the way she markets her goods as "good as new" merchendise left me cold.  All merchants are willing to deal in second hand goods, if they are in good repair.  I doubted that someone so obviously peddling low priced goods would have paid a fair price, so I avoided her shop.  When I caught sight of her I was just as glad that I had, as she is one of the least attractive Nord women I have ever seen...and that after three years in prison.

In any event, I set out to learn what I could about her little cartel, and was offered employment; employment fitting for my current 'investigator' persona, though unrelated to ancient artifacts.  The cartel is being undercut by a local merchant.  No surprise there.  I had identified the wood elf as unpopular, and now understood why.  While I might support free enterprise, generally, the opportunity to serve the cartel and make numerous friends overtakes any such ideals.  So when tasked with digging up dirt on the wood elf, his shop, or his merchandise, I was only too happy to agree.
<->

Not having to go through the process of moving left me extra time in the morning.  I made my run, and arrived in the market district to observe.  Most shops take deliveries immediately upon opening their doors, as traders like to get their business completed and be on their way.  The marketplace is different first thing in the morning; professionals being more focused than the shoppers.  There was no delivery at the Copious Coinpurse.  Searching my memories I could not recall seeing any traders at the shop on any of my morning visits to the quarter.

I visited the shop, sorting through a wide variety of items and chatting with the proprietor.  Thoronir is a wood elf.  Short, of course.  Friendly enough.  Quite proud of his selection of wares and his low prices.  He mentioned that he "has sources" in an enigmatic way.  Nothing more irritating than a wood elf with a secret.  The oddity that most caught my attention though came when I was examining a shirt, and he said that it "had just come in."  I asked him if he meant just this morning and he said "Yesterday."

Yesterday in the morning I was chatting with a woodcutter who was making a delivery to the toy shop.  It is directly across the lane from Thoronir's store, upstairs.  I know that there was no trader waiting at Thoronir's shop yesterday.  When did he get this delivery?  The way he said the shirt had just come in makes me think that he gets his deliveries late in the day; perhaps even after closing.

I left the shop curious, but no wiser, and examined the courtyard behind his shop.  Two features drew my attention.  The first was the well, which was closed by a wooden cover with a sign warning not to drink the water.  The second was a manhole into the sewers.  I went looking for a watchman to ask about the well.

The well has been deemed unsafe for drinking.  Not that anyone would want to drink from it.  Apparently one of the locals lowered their bucket into the well and got it snagged.  With some assistance from a passing watchman the bucket was brought up far enough to see that what it had snagged was a corpse, which broke loose and fell back in with a splash.  Various grapples were used, and eventually the corpse was recovered.

The body was in bad shape, but did not show signs of having been in the water for long.  People had used the well the previous evening, and not been sickened.  The watch believes that the corpse, dead for at least several days, had been dropped in the well during the night.  The well water is being treated with cures for diseases, but for now no one seems eager to drink from it, including me.  The body was never identified.
 
Again I had information that provided more questions and no answers.  I could think of no connection between corpses in the well and Thoronir's shop, other than coincidence of proximity.  I thanked the guard who told me the story and returned to the courtyard.  Whatever was going on at the Copious Coinprse, it would not be going on at midday.  So I took the opportunity to continue my explorations beneath the city.

The sewers beneath the market did not brook much exploration.  One chamber, cut off by an iron barrier that sealed the only access other than the ladder I came down.  The small channel under the barrier allowed water to flow, but was far too small for me.  The chain connected to the top of the barrier which apparently would raise it into a recess between the stones must connect to a mechanism on the other side.  A fire warmed the space.  Bedrolls of canvas lay on the stones.  I took all of these details in during that period of heightened awareness that follows a brush with death.

Fortunately, the death I brushed against was not my own.  The chamber was occupied by what I suppose could be called a bandit.  She challenged me as I came down the ladder, claiming that I owed a toll in passage.  As the chamber turned out to have no other exit this was fairly wide of reality.  Not surprising given her state of drunkeness.  While the chamber could possibly serve as a bandit den, with easy access to the market in the dark of night, it seems to have found more purpose as a speakeasy of sorts.  Perhaps as a brothel.  The woman was attractive enough, had she not been swinging a heavy iron mace and intent on killing me.

Dispatching a drunken woman was sufficiently challenging to drive home the point that I need more practice.  I am getting my wind, and my sword arm is building some muscle, but I am bittergreen green.

After the battle I returned to my room at the boarding house and spent the afternoon mixing up poisons from the ingredients I bought yesterday.  Now I will be sleeping to prepare for what may turn into a long night.

Prologue

The start of a new journal. 

The last, filled with half mad ramblings, I have left behind.  Years in prison would have filled me with madness, no doubt, had I not had my journals to drain it away.  If I had never known Arvil Bren would I have known that, or would the years of imprisonment have left me raving?  Am I really sure that they have not?

Seeing the last light of day refracted through the Amulet of Kings, which dangles from an arrow wedged into a poorly mortored crevice, I must stop to question my sanity.
<->

The first light of this extraordinary day could not find me at all.  Locked in the gloom of the Imperial dungeons I was beyond its reach.  So this day started like a thousand other days;  with a pallet of loose straw stinking beneath me.  Whether the stench was worth the cushioning against the hard stone is a question that I answered early.  My aging bones required it.

I had given the new cell only a cursory examination since I was transferred into it so late.  There seemed nothing remarkable.  Dangling chains, the skull of a former inmate picked clean by rats, a pitcher of water to be conserved since there was no way to know when, or if, it would be refilled; I have been transferred from one cell to another many times and never had reason to be excited.  Even though I had heard vague stories of that cell I would never have thought that I could be in it.  I tried not to think of those times long ago.  Times when stories of the emperor's secret route out of the city seemed marvelous secrets held by the holiest of orders.

When the voices approaching woke me I had no reason to believe they would change anything.  Guards come and go.  Then I recognized that unmistakable voice.  The emperor of Tamriel, Uriel Septim, in the Imperial dungeons?  Then he was at the door of my cell, and stopped.

I had little interaction with those Blades who serve in the emperor's guard.  The divisions among us are deep.  Those who serve as spies do not share in the shining Akaviri armor and the respect of the citizens.  I toiled all my years in secret.  Had I basked in the glory of the emperor's guard instead perhaps they would have known me despite the filthy attire of a prisoner.  Perhaps instead of thinking that he knew me from his dreams the emperor would just have recognized me outright from the day I took my oath; so long ago.  But I chose to be a spy, not just a guard.  From the day of my oath to this I never saw Uriel Septim face to face again.
<->

I will credit Arvil Bren for the idea of writing to stay sane in prison.  I will also credit him for the idea that writing helps to clear the mind and focus on a problem at hand.  However, sitting here to clear my head, by writing or otherwise is foolhardy in the extreme.

The arrow from which the amulet hangs is wedged between the stones which I am leaning against, stones framing an outlet from the city sewers.  Only a trickle emerges through the grated opening.  The gate through which I emerged is shut. 

The vista spread before me; the blue of the sky reflected and deepened by the placid waters of Lake Rumare; ancient Ayleid ruins of white stone rising on the far shore; the green of the trees and the flitting colors of birds and butterflies; it charms my prison darkened eyes.  But the assassins who have slain the Emperor knew too much about the secret escape route.  No doubt they knew it connected to the sewers, and they likely know that this would be the closest exit.  They will come here.

The amulet slides into my pouch.  The arrow returns to the quiver that I found among the detritus of the tunnels.  I must move on.  Clear head or not, I cannot linger here longer.
<->

Sunset.  Glorious in reds and purples.  The gold and orange have faded, but my eyes drank their fill.  There were times I gave up hope of ever seeing another.  The next one seems far away, so I again turn to this journal; writing by the dying light in hopes that pen on paper will show me a plan.

I have made a solid first move.  Waiting at the exit from the sewers was a boat.  I do not know if that boat was placed there by the Blades and intended to spirit the emperor away, or if the assassins placed it to hasten their escape.  In either event the red robed killers were aware of it, and when they emerged from the sewers and saw it beached across the lake they cast spells and strode across the rippling surface after it.  Where they think I went from there I cannot guess.

After I beached the boat I swam back here, to the cache of ragged goods that I gathered on my flight from the prison.  A bow, which served me well in getting past the goblins I encountered in the sewer, though my skills are rustier than its iron limbs.  Ragged armor of leather, ill fitting and stiff with the old blood of its previous owner, who I found as bones.  Odds and ends from a goblin I caught working at the very basic alchemy of his kind.  I have forgotten more than he would ever have learned.

That is the core of my problem.  Years in the dungeons have sapped my skills and softened my muscles.  I dare not show a light, but I doubt that I can survive if wild things find me huddled here in the darkness.  Even the isle of the imperial capitol is not too tame for a passing wolf to sniff out the easy meal I would present.  And the wilderness between here and Chorrol would be far deadlier.
If I go to Chorrol.  Does the dying wish of the emperor bind me to do so?  The Amulet of Kings in my pouch weighs heavily.  Mehrunes Dagon, daedric prince of darkness; the emperor believed that the assassin are his minions, and I see no reason to doubt.  I have no love for the emperor.  He had forgotten my oath long before he breathed his last, and years of imprisonment give me no reason to remember it.  Plus, at Chorrol waits the Grandmaster of Blades, Jauffre.  He would have the gall, no doubt, to remind me of my oath.If for no other reason than to keep me from killing him.

I would rather just go home to Kvatch, but that road is even longer.  And even if I abandon my past, could I turn my back on Tamriel?  The words of the emperor; "Close shut the jaws of Oblivion," ring in my ears.  Is my entire world in danger?  The Amulet, the fires in the Temple of the One, the Imperial bloodline of Talos.  If I turn my back and just throw the amulet into the lake would that release the forces of Oblivion and leave me with my freedom in a world of ash?
<->

A bright moon hangs overhead.  Enough light to see the pen and book, though my path is still shrouded in darkness.  That is no matter.  Whether my destination is Chorrol or Kvatch I cannot just set off on the journey like a stroll through a park.  The rags I wear, and even more the irons still bound around my wrists, would have me in the clutches of the watch before I covered a mile, even if the wild things didn't devour me.  The boat led pursuers off the isle, falsely.  In the morning I must harness the resources of the city.  I need to be strengthened for the journey, disguised and equipped.  I have been long away, but I have existed in the shadowy world of contacts and favors through most of my life.  That is where I must return.