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Bargains

Vos was a cute town. The houses were neatly arranged, the tavern had ample variety in drink to keep one amused and the local magistrate wasn’t completely unreasonable. Or so I thought.

..I was summoned..

She’d sent goons to collect me, her Mouth, who I didn’t immediately find offensive, and some well armored guards. I complied, if only because I had yet to work up to burning down another village. Yet.

Dratha was everything you would expect of a Telvanni. An air of superiority, well-dressed, ample living quarters. What surprised me was her detached management of the village. Something about ‘treating people like adults’ or some such. I could really grow to like it here.

It remained to be seen just how insane Dratha was. A close brush with death had set her determination in achieving Immortality.

This is normally where I bow out of conversations. I’ll pay my tab, pack my bags and leave, promptly. Quests for immortality usually involve a lot of blood and a great deal of screaming. I would have done just that and left but guards at the door didn’t have the look of complacency and visions of a nice safe bed hundreds of miles away vanished as quickly as it arrived.

So I listened. Something about Daedric ruins, a handful of magic stones and a dark prince. Yup. I should never have left Murkmire. At least the locals were more rational.

I never advise bargains with Daedra. In the book of bad ideas, all chapters start or stop with Daedra. And I was being asked to fetch some magic rocks all so some witch could wrangle madness long enough to stave off her twilight years.

Ramimilk

I plundered a number of ruins, some more ruined than others. I was shocked to see a handful of very reasonable cultists and scholars gathered in Ramimilk. My sense of foreboding went off the proverbial charts so I grabbed what I needed and left. But not before stealing a look at the flow of lava within a stones throw of the chamber.

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Vos and beyond

Vos was quaint. Little more than two houses and a sad excuse for a tavern. Sadly, I was lost and waiting for daylight only encouraged the local problems from harassing me.

Half a dozen brigands later I was still a touch lost. A local, ever thankful for my help, directed me to a nearby tower. Not even on the path, or in the town. More like it was looming over the village from just around the corner.

Seems the local magistrate had problems of their own and I was ‘instructed’ how I could help. I was beginning to hate Morrowind. Small people with small problems.

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Another day, another village..

Everywhere I turn trouble abounds. Plague, daedra, war. I can’t think of the last village that had nothing wrong and were just happy to see a traveller.

Vos, outskirts

Vos was looking no different. An Argonian on the road approaching town told me of how one magister was ill and another was a tyrant.

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“Mondas, you old fool..”

Stormhold was a familiar site as I rode into town. The swamp had neither consumed the meager docks nor allowed them to expand beyond their limited numbers. The townsfolk walked by on their way to push back enough swamp to keep the vines from overtaking the village walls yet not far enough to encourage more people to take resident.

I think that’s why I liked it here. Not enough shelter to allow for complacence or comfort. When the rains came, you could seek shelter in the Inn, drown your misery while the skies tried to drown the village. Or you could suffer through the deluge.

a brief prayer to Meridia for good health

But when the rains clear you’re often greeted by the gentle glow of sunlight cutting through swampy gloom.

A gentle cough rolled into heavy wracking. “Mondas, you old fool.. this swamp will be the death of you..” I chided myself.

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