In a Hostile Country: The Saga of Cahmel (Let’s Play Morrowind, Part 38)

When we last left our hero, he was gearing up to launch a massive assault on Dark Brotherhood territory. I hung outside the gate to their lair, potions and blades laid out before me like surgeon’s instruments. I was ready. They had hunted me like an animal. They had attacked me in my sleep. They had drawn me into a conspiracy far beyond my abilities, lured me across an entire continent, and forced me to work with a team of plucky misfits with checkered pasts and hearts of gold. They thought I would be an easy target. They thought they could just off me in my sleep and be done with it, but they were wrong…dead wrong. Their first mistake was trying to kill me, but their biggest was not finishing the job. They tried to take it all away from me, but I’m a man with nothing to lose. I was here to kill them all, because this time it’s personal. I just hope I don’t crap my pants and run away like a scared girl, because I really feel like doing that right now.

No, no, can’t let fear run unchecked over here. Got to curtail that business. The Knights of Cahmelot had come a long way, and there was no going back now, not when I had fought my way to their very doorstep. I could never look at myself in a mirror if I turned back now, which is okay, because there are totally no mirrors in Morrowind for some reason. I don’t know how I shave, come to think of it. I don’t even own shaving lather or anything, and I’m not sure I want to start every day by dragging a jagged demon blade across my face.

I rested my hand on the doorknob, then glanced at my team. Ratsy wore a look of bright determination—always a trooper. If I had a platoon of men like him, I could take any army, provided they were made out of soft cheese or fragrant grains. Ratsy was my shield and armor in dark times. I don’t mean to get fatalistic, but I would let him take an arrow for me any day.

And then there was Mercenary Guy. Mercenary Guy had an expression of stoicism about him that spoke of grey mountainsides and the endless ocean, or else hour twelve of a hardcore dope binge. Either way, it was good to have him on my team, provided he wouldn’t eat my scrib jerky and start talking about his feet. I felt like he would take on absolutely anything, with wildly varying gradients of success.

If I couldn’t trust this team, who could I trust? Myself? Fat chance, I still owe myself money from like a year ago. No, this was my big moment. This is where I put aside my self-loathing loner tendencies and learn to love again.

I put my hand on the handle, took a deep breath, and threw it open.

One minute and eight seconds later, I collapse against the other side of the door. My armor is torn apart, I’m bleeding profusely, my wounds are tinged with poison that’s about to eat away my favorite hit point, and there are several assassins hot on my heels.

I start rummaging desperately through my backpack. Crap, this is my last health potion. Oh, god, what to do, what to do…

I yank out one of my three emergency death scrolls, then fire it wildly over my shoulder. As far as I can tell from having my eyes shut in the fetal position, this works, and they both drop.

I sit there and cry for a few minutes.

Then I get up, stagger over the freshest of the bodies, and examine the gory soup of carnage that was the last forty seconds of my life, and the last moments of Ratsy and Merc’s lives.

Three dead assassins up here—that’s the bright side. That’s three more assassins than was dead before we came down here, and three more that wouldn’t bother me ever again. There was a couple million more down here, but still, five total kills? That’s as many as…five kills.

And, hey, I only lost two guys. According to math, that means I won.

Just don’t ask me how my guys died. Honestly, it all happened so fast, I’m not exactly sure what happened. I just remember five assassins jumping us at once, me swinging half-heartedly at them, me getting hit, and then me crapping my pants and running like a scared little girl. It looks like neither of them were willing to follow my lead.

Mercenary guy lay where he had stood, surrounded by assassins. It was impressive that he had managed to kill any of them, considering that surrounded as he was, his bloodstream was probably more poison than red stuff by now. You know, I really have to commend his bravery. I have to commend it because I have to say something nice as his eulogy, and it sure as hell ain’t going to be about his intelligence, business savvy, or animal magnetism.

After regarding his body with due somberness, I stoop down and took the money off of his corpse. I think he would have wanted me to have it.

And alas, poor Ratsy. You were more than a pack rat to me, Ratsy. You were a friend. You were with me through good times and bad; no matter what the odds, you were right there beside me. You carried my things without complaint, without desire for payment, eager to please. You were more than a companion to me. You were my inspiration wait a second, pack rat, pack rat. Oh my god, I just got that. Pack rat. Like a pack mule, but he’s a rat, so…oh, man, that’s terrible. Seriously, that’s just…man, that’s some bad punnage right there. Hehe. Can’t believe I didn’t get that before now.

Ahem.

So…sorry, you two. Looks like this mission was a bit of a bust. But your deaths were not in vain, because this jaunt provided me with precisely the tactical information I needed to proceed here.

I’ve looked at the facts, and concluded that a retreat is in order.

So…thanks for your help, guys, it’s been real. Pleasure working with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a sign to make.

FGTHTER LFG, MRNHOLD CVRNS, NEED 2 MORE, PST