In a Hostile Country: The Saga of Cahmel (Let’s Play Morrowind, Part 4)

When we last left our hero, he was bathing his eyes in bleach and contemplating contractual fraud. He had a membership he planned to do nothing with, two bosses he never wanted to see again, and a ton of money he had nothing to spend on. What he did not have was a clue as to what he should do next.

Now, I don’t really want to make this the story of Schlock McGee, Rat Slayer. Thing is, I’m kinda looking for something that represents a little more flavor and intrigue, something that could make a newcomer to the game go; “Hey, that’s actually kinda epic.” And as I brushed passed bystanders, shrugging off their passive-aggressive demands for conversation, I figured out what I wanted to do.

I wanted to join one of the Great Houses.

In Morrowind, there are three organizations calling themselves the Great Houses. These groups have large memberships, and carry a substantial amount of political and economic clout. Many towns are owned and policed by these Great Houses—Balmora, for example, is one of the primary seats of House Hlaalu, and their guards wear Hlaalu uniforms.

Something tells me these guys live for Casual Friday.

The Houses are very different from one another—in terms of focus, codes, and aesthetics. On the sliding scale of ethical to unethical, we have House Redoran, a House built on honor and courage (don’t kill or steal from members), House Hlaalu, a House built on opportunism and commerce (don’t kill or steal from members and then get caught), and House Telvanni, a House built on Sith-like opportunism (if you can kill or steal from another member and remain standing afterwards, you deserved to win). In addition, Redoran is usually associated with fighters, Hlaalu is usually associated with the sneakier skills, and Telvanni assumes all entrants are magic-users.

Still, the game is flexible enough that a disciple of any particular class can join any house they want. And Cahmel isn’t the kind of guy who lets things like practicality or tradition stand between him and his whims. Really, I can pick any House I want.

Hm.

Well, judging by his willingness to traffic in drugs (which he managed to offload in a pawn shop, by the way), Cahmel’s a bit of an opportunist—certainly not a squeaky-clean Redoran type, from the looks of it. But he’s not quite as moustache-twirling pet-kwama-stroking evil as many of the Telvanni, come to that. It looks like Hlaalu is the best choice. And I can sign up right in Balmora…

I shook myself. What was I saying? I’d already made that mistake in the Fighter’s guild—joining in on a whim without evaluating whether or not I’d be a good fit (okay, okay, I knew what the first Fighter’s Guild quest was already, but still). No, this required some deliberation.

Those jackholes in the Hlaalu Manor refuse to tell me anything about the other guilds, for some reason, but they do tell me that I can learn more about their organization by going to the Hlaalu Canton in Vivec, the biggest city in Morrowind. As I recall, the other two Houses had cantons there as well. Hm…

Road trip!

Alright, there we go—I had my next step planned out. I would journey across dusty roads, cracked earth, rabid animals and fearsome monsters. Finally, I would get moving again.

Adventure! Danger! Battle!

Or, you know. I could take the Silt Strider fast transport.

Reasonable rates! Comfortable seats! In-journey snacks!

Well, it’s certainly within my budget. And I don’t particularly feel like figuring out where Vivec is—I lost my map a long time ago. But it’s not terribly exciting, is it? I mean…

Hm.

Hold on, guys, I’m trying to figure out how much of a sense of adventure I have.

…

Oh, okay, I’ll walk there.

After I spend about half an hour walking back and forth around the city trying to find out which exit I should take, I set out on my epic journey across the countryside.

Just as soon as I figure out which way Vivec is. I remember vaguely where to find it, and there’s road signs and stuff to point me in the right direction. This trip probably wouldn’t take very long to do.

Yeah. This is gonna be a real brief journey. So very brief, in fact, that I have no compunctions about expounding, at length, about how short it will be.

So short.

I’m not going to give a detailed log of the next…good amount…of the trip. I’ll just provide some screenshots.

Okay, this looks like the right direction.

Or...not. Crap, is that a Cliff Racer? Take cover!

Alright, I'll just duck into this shrine here and rest. So far, all of the shrines I've been in have been filled with skeletons and crap, so this should be

OH JESUS NO RUN RUN RUN

GAAAH CLIFF RACER CLIFF RACER

One hour later, lost in a morass of dirt and winding roads, caught in the rain, searching vainly for a sign to confirm that I was going in that right direction, I stumbled upon my new friend.

Of course I'd end up helping her. How could I resist that angel's face and come-hither eyes?

Apparently, this fine woman was on her way to a holy shrine. Problem was, she couldn’t find it despite knowing its location on a map, so…come on, say it with me:

She needs my help.

Golly, I daresay this is becoming a pattern.

Basically, I have to take her with me on a lengthy journey to the shrine, after which she will give me a pittance as a reward. It’s out of my way, somewhere I’ve never traveled before, I’m pretty clearly not the person to be coming to if you need to find something quickly, and I obviously don’t need the money. This is in addition to the fact that my traveling companion looks like one of those woodcuts in ancient books captioned, “Thee hag creature, once its victim has fallen afleep, takes occasion to remove her skin-suit and confume her victim in her natural form.”

And yet, I agree, because…come on, say it with me:

I’m real thick.

I travel along further, fighting angry wildlife, ducking cliff racers, taking shelter in ancient tombs, and all the while regretting not taking that goddamn silt strider to begin with. All the while, my new companion follows blithely along at the pace of a goddamn crippled snail.

Seriously. My lapsing in willpower and running places, as opposed to the more realistic and non-videogamesque walking, isn’t even an option anymore. Even if I’m just striding along, taking in the sights like an unemployed nature enthusiast with a penchant for hacking apart animals, she has to run to keep up with me. I know that she’s an old lady and all, but I was about five minutes away from force-feeding her moon sugar before I came to a blessed, welcome distraction.

Egg miners.

Move 6 dozen eggs and what do you get? The pity of various adventurers you've met.

These two gents work in the nearby egg mine, a sort of cultivated hive of egg-laying critters. See, there are these irritating maggot-things all over the place called Kwama Foragers, which turn out to be part of the ecosystem of a race called the kwama.

Kwamas 1-4: creepy and exotic. Kwamas 5-10: dangerous. Kwamas 11+: wildly irritating.

Kwamas are a sort of hive-like race, one built on a hierarchy of worm-like foragers and scouts, larger, chitinous drones, bipedal warriors and a massive, bloated queen. Now, none of this information is terribly useful, and I already knew all of it from previous playthroughs, but I stilled clicked through his lectures with interest. There really is a detailed, colorful setting behind the events of Morrowind—egg miners represent the source of much of the realm’s food, after all, and given that one can be forgiven for never setting foot inside an egg mine, it’s nice that they had writers working on all of this.

I set off, enlightened with this new bit of information, just in time to notice that my companion had taken this opportunity to get herself stuck on a rock.

I could already tell this was going to be a fun journey.