In a Hostile Country: The Saga of Cahmel (Let’s Play Morrowind, Part 16)

It was at that point, staring at that NPC’s slaphappy mug, clutching my parcel of band-aid-in-a-bottle, that I decided it was time to get back on schedule. It had been a fun holiday visiting friends and wandering around, but I had people to murder and lives to sabotage if I was going to make Hlaalu quota this month.

Time to swallow my greaves-wetting fear. Time to put on my queen-stompin’ shoes. Time to buff up or shut up. Time to get back on the freakish egg-laying bug thing. It was, in short, time to finish the mission.

After a laborious sequence of fast-travels, I ended up back outside the mine. It was at this point that the option of actually coming up with a plan presented itself.

Okay, the queen is my only priority. She’s defenseless, so the only real trick is getting to her. I’m a little bit higher level now than I used to be, so I could…probably…take one of the workers. Probably. Warriors, not so much. Nothing will come from duking it out with those guys but a river of blood and tears—all my own, depending on how hard they laugh when my head pops off.

But…really, I don’t have to fight any of them to accomplish the mission. The only reason I have to stop and have it out with any of the peons is that they guard the tunnels leading up to the queen. Hm…I did have a few potions of invisibility I lifted from somewhere, but they were all the crappy variety that last as long as French government. I’d have to move fast if I was going to get past them all.

Part of me already saw where this plan was going, but I did a diagnostic jog anyway. I was much too slow—no way I could get past them in time at my current running speed. I was just burdened down too much by my gear oh god dammit.

Now, stop me if you've heard this one before.

Right. Right. Okay. Okay! Yeah, in theory, this could work. This could totally work. I’m not going to have to fight anything, so I don’t need my armor, do I? Just slowing me down! And that loose, stylish vest with matching black slacks? Dead weight, all dead weight!

Oh, but it gets better. See, I wouldn’t be doing this little streaking run completely naked. No, I’d be wearing boots.

Speed-enhancing boots.

That have the small negative side effect of rendering me blind. It’s okay, though, I’d navigate using the minimap. The little inch-square low-res thumbnail map of the area.

So, to summarize: My plan is to rocket, blind and naked, through a jagged and uneven tunnel full of vicious animals! How could that go wrong, I ask you?

I open the door and step inside—not much has changed since I was last given a beatdown here. Same dark tunnel, same disgruntled Worker.

My old pal Mr. Curbstomp immediately rears up, having smelt that familiar odor of larceny and scrib jerky that meant it was time to put on his killin’ cleats. He pounded down the tunnel like he was a fat camp fugitive and I was a Thanksgiving buffet, claws windmilling, crazy feeler-things twitching with violent madness. At this point, as an alternative to filling my nonexistent drawers, I quaffed the potion.

He stopped almost instantly, as if he caught a glimpse of the menu and realized it was tofurkey. Then he turned around almost sadly and continued pacing.

First hurdle down.

I put on the boots, prayed like hell, and tore down the tunnel.

It took me about a half-second to smack against the wall. I bounded back off of it, banking down a previously-unseen corner and sliding recklessly down the tunnel…

Splash.

I whip off the boots. I’m at the bottom of a vast, murky pool, hemorrhaging oxygen, disoriented as to direction.

Also, surrounded by slaughterfish.

While, and I feel it necessary to once again stress this, naked.

I draw my saber and given them an amateur fillet job, but not without them getting a few nibbles in. Whatever Hlaalu pays me for this job, it isn’t friggin’ enough.

I continue down the underwater tunnel. I surface, get my bearings, and…

Thar she blows.

It's kind of dark, so you can't see her very well. You're welcome.

Hatred rose up inside me. In that instant, fresh from the bloodied water, I hated that queen. I hated her bloated backside, I hated her fisheyes, I hated her imperious stance and her hordes of blind minions. Bubbling over with bile, I drew my blade, lunged forward, and lunged very quickly backward as two workers popped into the tunnel.

Right, that’s it, then. I was a fool to think I could avoid conflict. I was a fool to think I would come out of this cave without having inflicted collateral damage, a fool to think her royal highness’ egg sac wouldn’t be attended by lethal babysitters.

I was a fool, it’s true. But I was also something else:

A devious cheating hack.

I jogged back into the shallows. Apparently, a half-inch of water is terrifying to the workers, despite the fact that it’s the only way to enter or leave this tiny chamber. So I waited for my moment, lunged, took off a chunk of them with my blade, and danced back into the safety of the puddle. The workers didn’t last a minute.

My work was not done. The queen writhed and screamed, jiggling impotently as I drew nearer, step by step, saber drawn. I flicked the tip out to its neck—it flinched, drawing an inch away from me, eyes wide and terrified. I raised the blade…

And my eyes were drawn to the sacs of eggs. To the yet-unborn creatures within the queen’s belly. To the primal act of motherhood that was this creature’s only act, only goal, only wish. And to my bloodied hands—the hands of a low mercenary, whose only job was to mangle and destroy.

I might be devilishly handsome, and it might be twisted and foul, but I had to ask myself…was I the real monster?

Yeah, that sounded about right. Snicker-snack, scratch one queen.

Well, that was easy.