In a Hostile Country: The Saga of Cahmel (Let’s Play Morrowind, Part 6)

I felt guilty about leaving off just as I arrived at Vivec, so here’s another update for you. Don’t say I never do things that might vaguely amuse you for a few minutes before acting insufferably, smugly generous.

When we last left our stalwart hero, he had just paid too much for a ticket to a city only a mile or two away, and was contemplating the best place to go beddy-bye.

Anyway, I wasn’t in the mood to muck around looking for lodgings, so I dropped any pretense of distinguishing in-character and out-of-character geographical knowledge and went straight for the nearest inn.

On my way up, I was given a splendid pair of reminders Re: Why I Hate Vivec.

As I mentioned, the cantons in Vivec are divided into three tiers apiece—dwellings and canal maintenance on the bottom, some shops and inns on the middle section, and the manors and guild halls on the top. You go up and down by navigating some impressively annoying ramp systems, and you move from canton to canton using bridges that never seem to be where you need them to be. Even at a customary full-out sprint Vivec is a chore to navigate, and I was forced by my ball-and-chain to crawl around at the approximate speed of a slug bound for the gallows.

But that’s okay, because it meant I had more time to bask in Vivec’s chorus of warm, jovial greetings.

I mentioned earlier that the cities in Morrowind are owned and policed by the Great Houses. Well, Vivec is sort of owned by the Temple, a separate entity, so it has its own police staff—tough looking blokes called Ordinators. Ordinators get a swanky title, a kickawesome set of gear, and the cheerful gregariousness of a serial killer who didn’t get his customary 5 pots of coffee that morning.

You'd never think the words "skirt" and "big yellow plume" could be intimidating, but here ya go.

Ordinators are almost hilariously rude. While you get used to the ordinary citizens telling you to “Spit it out or hit the road!” or “Say something or move on,” Ordinators don’t feel particularly inclined to give you options. Many a time you’ll find them staring at you with their freakish death-mask helms, as if to say:, “We’re watching you…scum.”

Oh, wait. That’s not what it’s like they’re saying. That is, verbatim, what they say to you. Often. It’s their most-used dialogue choice.

Let me put it this way: if you don’t play your cards right, you can actually get it so that the default mode of Ordinators is to attack you on sight. I have done this more than once, by accident. You get a real sense that the elemental state of these guys is driving a mace through your head, and the only thing stopping them from doing so is the notion they might have to clean it up afterwards.

So by the time I’d hobbled to the second floor of the canton, dragging along my wrinkled baggage and dodging surly guards, I was already pretty damn sick of the place. I needed to get to an inn, rest up, and then get everything over with

GAAH! Oh god, oh god!

Oh please do not tell me that her mug is the first thing I’m gonna see whenever I load a new area. From now on. Forever. It’s just not safe, her hideous face teleporting right in front of me all the time. I mean, it’s only going to be a matter of time before she accidentally tumbles down the staircase onto my saber 43 times, and then tries to aggressively staunch the blood flow with whatever blunt instruments are handy.

A little shakily, I proceeded to the Black Shalk Cornerclub. There are a couple unsubtle quest hooks in here, which I breeze past. I’m a man on a mission. And that mission is buying a room.

Ah, there it is. I walk in, getting a feel for the room, and…um.

Oh. Oh, hi there. Guess he didn’t include a room for you in the package. Huh.

Well, goodnight!

I wake up the next morning, fresh as a recently-ironed daisy. It could be my imagination, but my companion seems a bit grumpier the next morning. Hope the floor was clean, good buddy!

Right. What to do first?

Well, as I mentioned, I needed to find the different cantons for the Great Houses so I could interview officials about their aims and practices. Only trouble is, none of the NPCs I asked would tell me where the cantons were, and my mental map was a bit hazy on that issue. Nothing for it but to poke around, I guess.

I start wandering around my current canton in search of a bridge. You’d think that’d be a simple procedure, but that’s because you haven’t been to Vivec yet. And the fact that I had to mince around like a footless geriatric just made the process that more irritating. I would find myself pausing repeatedly, having jogged a few foolish steps out of desperation only to have to wait for her to catch up. She probably wondered why I looked so distant when I did so–I took the time to indulge in a few pleasant fantasies.

Finally, on the top level of one of the cantons, I made a decision. I would leave my partner outside the door and go racing off on my own, unburdened by her fancy-less footwork and free to explore at my leisure. Besides, I didn’t really want to risk opening a door to a faceful of her face again.

The process of tracking down and interviewing officials from each canton was very long and, for the most part, quite dull. I’ll just tick off a few of the highlights from the trip.

Not far in, somewhere on the Telvani canton, I came to a tavern called something like The Lizard’s Head. It’s worth noting, at this point, that Morrowind contains a race called the Argonians who are essentially lizard-people. For this reason, the tavern caught my interest, and I went in.

I spent a little time talking with the locals, buying a few drinks, wandering around, before I decided to check out the supply closet just for giggles.

Once inside, something caught my eye.

…

Holy smokes.

This is a straight-up head on a placard. That’s not some savage swamp monster or anything, either. That is the stuffed, preserved head of a sentient, bipedal being—an Argonian. You can create a character who has that head. Just a severed head, mounted on a tasteful wood backplate. Seriously. This is almost indescribably depraved. What kind of freaks would keep something like this in their closet?

…

Yoink.

Hey, can you blame me for wanting something to give my grandchildren?

Some time later, in a desperate attempt to not have to add 45 minutes to my 20-foot journey, I accidentally stumble into the canal. After a few frantic (read—actually extremely dull) minutes of swimming around, my Deus Ex Hong Kong flashback is completed by the appearance of a boat and a guy in a hat.

Apparently, and I had forgotten this, there’s a fast travel system within the city. For a fee, the gondola takes you from canton to canton.

Imagine if your neighborhood was so poorly designed it was sorely tempting to buy a bus pass to cross the street, then you tell me with a straight face that the architects here didn’t have any “benefactors” within the gondolier’s guild.

Lastly, I discovered a bug. I won’t describe it here; you should really just see it for yourself.

Tune in next week to find out what I decide, Housewise.