In a Hostile Country: The Saga of Cahmel (Let’s Play Morrowind, Part 31)

When we last left our hero, he was mad as hell and not going to take it anymore. If my bosses were actively trying to get me killed or imprisoned, they could not have come up with worse missions than my ostensibly well-intentioned Hlaalu overlords. So you know what? I’m done. I’m not licking their boots any longer. Screw off, Crassius, because I’m a free man and you ain’t no uncle of mine. I’m going to go get a better-paying, less-dangerous, more-legitimate career, like selling fake drugs to serial killers.

So…yeah, I start walking. Just pick a direction at random and start trekking it out. I’m roughly equidistant from anywhere resembling civilization, so I might as well just go where my feet take me, right? Anywhere’s better than Undeadmurder Alley.

After a while, I bump into a city: Molag Mar.

Notice that Molag Mar looks like a single canton from Vivec. That’s basically what it is—a little mini Vivec, with the exact same art assets and layouts. Could be that Vivec’s cantons are actually modular pieces sold by some extremely lazy contractor. Alternately, could be Molag Mar’s a tourist trap of some kind–the equivalent of those shady animated movies that are exactly as similar to a Disney cartoon as the law allows, only far, far worse.

In any case, the place is pretty unremarkable, but at least it’s quiet. If I had to pick a word to describe it, it would be safe. This whole place just feels so very safe, like nothing bad will ever happen to me here. I feel totally at ease and off of my guard.

Well, time to rest for the night. You know, I could try to find the safest place to rest, but I just feel so darned safe here, there’s not much point, is there? Anywhere I pick will be completely safe. Hey, here’s an inn over here. Pilgrim’s Rest, eh? Sounds so safe. Let’s spend the night here.

Take off all of my armor, set my sword way aside—I won’t be needing it in a room as safe as this, after all—and then just slip away into extremely safe dreams.

I wake up. Gasp and shock! It looks like—

–nothing happened.

Huh. I, I was actually…hm.

Let me just go back to bed for a few hours here.

Oh hai thar.

Oh, here we go.

Gasp and shock! It seems I am under attack by some assassin. I don’t know who he’s working for, but it sure ain’t the fashion police. Looks like somebody mix-and-matched a pair of Sam Fisher goggles with an ill fitting ape costume, perhaps as part of some clever pun that absolutely nobody at the party will get without an unwanted explanation.

Sorry, getting off track here. Right, time to kill this freakjob.

He goes down without too much trouble. Well, seems like a mysterious assassin has just attacked me out of the blue. I wonder if he will have inexplicably been carrying some sort of very pointed assassination order, cryptically indicating who his employer is and giving me a hint as to how to proceed.

Oh, what a surprise, it looks like—

Huh. Actually, he has no such thing on him. Just a dwarven shortsword and some silly-looking armor, which, holy crap, is way better than mine. It’s not even close. This armor is literally three times better than what I am currently carrying. Well, looks like this is goodbye, bugskin suit and stupid looking helmet (or Asshat, as I like to call it). May you find better use as a set of flatware, or the most bizarre drumset ever, or just a load of creepy overgrown bone items. Anything but a sartorial statement, really.

Take a good last look at this old clown suit, because I'm about to replace it with a brand new clown suit.

I walk out of the inn, kitted out head-to-toe in my new vaguely furry-looking black pajamas. Of course, it’s still not entirely clear what I’m supposed to be doing from here. A quick look at the journal gives the helpful suggestion, “maybe you should talk to a guard,” which strikes me as a bit counter-intuitive. I mean, you’re not just some random civilian, who obeys the law, pays his taxes, contributes meaningfully to his community, and doesn’t destroy three beautiful things before breakfast. You’re an adventurer. You don’t brush your teeth, you don’t have a garden, and you don’t go tattling to the fuzz every time someone tries to kill you. Someone messes with your business, you mess with their business right back.

And besides, there aren’t any guards in Molag Mar. Which, now that I think of it, contributes somewhat to the whole assassin-in-least-subtle-armor-ever-manages-to-come-after-me situation. It doesn’t explain how he got through the front desk, though.

“Uh, hi, I’m here to visit Cahmel. Uh-huh. No, I understand. The armor? Oh, this, this isn’t armor, it’s my pajamas. We’re having a pajama party. Why the goggles? Well, you know, I get invited to a lot of pool parties as well as pajama parties, and I thought it’d be efficient if I just had one party suit I could use for all situations. Yeah, I thought so too. Thanks. Third room? Okay, you too!”

I take the boat to Vivec, and after a moment’s thought take the the silt strider there to Balmora. I could talk it over with the Ordinators, but I’d kind of like to discuss my harrowing attempted assassination with someone who won’t snigger at the prospect.

The Hlaalu guards aren’t a lot of help. They manage to tell me the assassin was a member of a group called the Dark Brotherhood, which I’d pretty much sussed out since the guy who tried to kill me was called a Dark Brotherhood Assassin and all of his gear has the Dark Brotherhood label on it. Then they tell me to go talk to a random dude in Ebonheart. Maybe I will, then. Thanks for nothing.

I calculate the best route to Ebonheart, then execute. Ebonheart’s a bleak Imperial town, situated pretty much in the arse end of the island. I grew to hate it, because despite the fact that it’s a port for several questlines it’s a pain in the neck to navigate. No shops, no transportation besides a boat. What it does have is a lot of distance between the docks and anyone who might give you quests or equipment, as well as a lot of loading screens.

Nice statue. Really demonstrates the glory of the Empire to the 4 dockworkers and 10 Imperial employees who walk through here on a regular basis.

I find the guy and talk to him. He gives me a lot of hot air about the Dark Brotherhood being mysterious, and proceeds to offer me no assistance whatsoever. His attitude is, “Yeah, assassins trying to kill you, that sucks. Tell you what, if I was a guard or something whose job it was to protect innocent civilians, I’d totally help you out. As it is, though, maybe you should go try to take on the entire assassin’s organization by yourself in an attempt to figure out why they’re trying to kill you.” He suggests I go to Mournhold, a distant city where they have their headquarters, and poke around. Again, thanks for nothing.

He tells me where to go to teleport out. I set out with a troubled mind, uncertain. Assassins trying to kill me, no help from anyone, a strange city where I’ll have no connections or assistance—how do they expect me to survive? How can I hope to AHAHAHA

AHAHA, oh man, I would hate to be that guy. Nice hat, buddy!

But, yeah, I’m in a real desperate situation.

I walk into the main room, looking around for someone who can teleport me to Mournhold. Alright, the first name makes it sound like they’re a girl, but you can’t really tell with Bretons—all of them have such sissy wait a minute.

Hlaalu? Like, not…the Hlaalu? Certainly an important house member, to be here rubbing elbows with the bigwigs. Got some leverage, eh? Well, I hope you have a minute, because I’d like to talk with you.

Sir, you probably don’t know me. I’m just a random grunt, really. Just another fast-tracker who figured he’d be retired by now, sitting on a pile of skooma and scrib jerky. I’ve done a lot of jobs for a lot of people, and I think I’ve seen the full range of Hlaalu management. I’ve gotten a real sense for how you people do business, and I think I’ve assessed your policies regarding the treatment of employees and fully grasped your principles of compensation. Suffice it to say, I have a few complaints. Well, actually, I have quite a few of them. But I’m sure you’re a busy man, so allow me to summarize them all in one point:

I dodge his spells, find a guard, pay the fine, and breathe a sigh of relief. As soon as the blow landed, I was instantly expelled from House Hlaalu.

I guess they can consider that my resignation letter.