Chapter Text
No matter how nationalistic you think you are, you cannot say anything good about Vvardenfell’s weather. As I walk across the street to the census office you’d think I’d walked headfirst into a waterfall. Of course the first I see returning to Morrowind after a year in Imperial prison, a month in the back of a carriage, and another two months in the hull of a ship with a wannabe saint is a run-down village in a massive downpour. I use the word “see” loosely, of course; all I can really see is rain.
I open the door to the office and close it directly behind me. There’s a Breton sitting at a desk in front of me. I wonder if I went in the wrong door. Without looking up at me, he says something in a language I don’t recognise.
“I don’t speak... that,” I say.
He keeps talking in whatever language it is. Despite all the talk about how inclusive Imperials are, every one I’ve met has been more willing to learn something like this and try to speak it to me than actual Dunmeris. Even those in Morrowind, apparently.
“I know a little Tamrielic,” I try, in Tamrielic.
“Oh. Here, come in,” he responds in Tamrielic, followed by a string of words I don’t know. He takes a folder from a shelf behind him and starts to sort through its contents.
“Do you know why I was let out? Nobody will tell me,” I ask.
“Correct,” he says.
“What?”
“Name, please?”
“Sadrys... Alvos Sadrys,” I say.
Just saying my first name causes me to pull a bit of a face. Alvos. Who names their kid Alvos? Gods, what an awful name. If I had a choice, I’d erase it entirely and just be Sadrys.
“Mmhm,” the Breton mumbles. “These say you’re from the Imperial City.”
“I... lived there for a year. I used to live in Gnisis,” I say.
“Oh, I see. These also say you were born under a certain sign. What would that be?”
“Sign?”
“Astrology, of course.” I don’t know what that means. “Apprentice, Atronach... you know... When is your birth date, then?”
“Uh, the 30th of Hearthfire... 401.”
“Sign of the Lady then... got it.” he makes a few marks on his clipboard. “It means you’re tolerant, you know.” He looks at me blankly for a moment, then goes back to reading his forms. “Reason for release?”
“I just told you I don’t know. Do you?”
“No reason stated,” he says, pointing to the form. “The Emperor himself had you released. Didn’t say why.”
“Sorry?”
“You don’t know the Emperor?” he raises an eyebrow.
“Of course I know who he is. I just... I don’t understand.”
“Don’t ask too many questions.” He looks at me sternly.
There’s an awkward silence. A puddle of rainwater forms under my feet.
“Well, that’s it from me.” He hands me the folder, and points to a door behind me. “Take these and go see Captain Gravius.”
Finally. I don’t think I can stand any more of this guy. I head down the hall, which leads to a room with a table and some shelves. The table has fresh food on it, but nobody seems to be nearby. I look around to make sure of this, before pulling a dagger out of its wood panels. Something tells me I’m going to need this, I think. I continue on to Gravius’s office.
The door at the end of the hallway leads to the saddest courtyard I’ve ever seen. There’s hardly even any grass; it’s just a patch of dirt with a wall around it. This is Vvardenfell, alright. An impulse search through one of the barrels along the wall nets me a weirdly expensive-looking ring. Looks like I’m setting the world record for shortest time between release from prison and committing another crime... Back into the building I go, which actually puts me directly in Gravius’s office.
“I have to give these to you,” I say to him, holding out the papers.
Gravius says something I don’t understand, then “You’re Sadrys?”
“Alvos.”
“Sadrys Alvos.”
“Alvos Sadrys.”
“Now you’re confusing me.”
“It’s only House names that go first.”
“Divines, I can’t ever keep track of it here...” He takes the folder. “I just need to check these over and file them, and you’ll be good to go,” he says.
“I still don’t know why I was released.”
“None of us do.” As he sorts the forms, he starts monologuing in long sentences with big words, and all I’m able to catch is something about the emperor, the army, and “Now here I am in Seyda Neen, Vvardenfell.” We’re in Seyda Neen? Why does Seyda Neen even have a census office?
“Well, you’re all set, Mister Sadrys,” Gravius says. “Strange, I thought you were supposed to be from outside Morrowind... nevermind. This package came with the news you’d be coming.” he hands me a small box. “You’re supposed to give it to Caius Cosades in Balmora.”
I take the box and examine it: wood, haphazardly wrapped in paper, and stamped with an Imperial seal. The Tamrielic word CONFIDENTIAL is written on it, which I think is just an official version of secret. “Where in Balmora?”
“I don’t know. Everyone there knows him, so you shouldn’t have too much trouble finding him. You’ll want to leave as soon as possible. Bellienus said it was urgent.” Then, after a pause, “You’ll need something more than those rags.” He pulls out a cloak out of a chest to my right and hands it to me. I run my hand over it and several threads fall off.
I hear the rain pounding on the roof. It feels as if the ceiling is going to cave in at any moment.
Gravius tosses a wallet at me. “That should be enough for a ride there,” he says.
I thank him. For a moment we just stand there in awkward silence. The wallet feels light.
“That’s it. That door leads outside.”
I can take a hint. As I open the door outside, the rain comes in onto the floor and my feet.
I take inventory of the first three things I’ve had in my possession in over a year: A wallet with barely enough to last three days after paying the silt strider fare, a cloak half-eaten by moths that will probably dissolve the moment I step outside, and a package that isn’t even mine to open. All in all, I’d say things are looking up for me.
I wrap the cloak around my shoulders and pull the hood over my head. Holding the package and wallet under my arm, I step out into the rain.
---
I reach the silt strider docks on the edge of town, thoroughly soaked. On one side is a trade caravan of seven or eight that appears to be preparing for departure, and on the other is one for commercial travel, though there’s no silt strider there. I hike up the stairs anyway, and approach an official-looking lady sitting under an awning.
“Do you run the strider service here?”
“I work for it.”
“Is one coming in any time soon?”
“No.”
“Uh, okay. Why are you here then?”
“None of your business, asshole. Not like you could afford a ride, anyway. You spend all your money on skooma or something?”
“No, I--” I stop. I decide ‘actually, I just got out of prison’ isn’t a very good comeback. “Alright, nevermind. Have a nice day.”
My gods. I turn and walk back down the steps, and sit under a nearby mushroom. The ground underneath is still wet, but it’s better than nothing, I guess. What do I do now? The package is starting to get wet. I can only hope its contents are waterproof. I look over at the caravan. The dock is crowded with people moving crates onto and off the striders. One of them calls out that they’ll be departing for Balmora soon. I sure wish I were too...
Wait.
I jump up and hurry to the caravan’s dock. Navigating among the crowd, I eye the caravan for a strider I might be able to sneak onto. I pick up a crate to blend in better. The one I heard calling out earlier is ordering the crates into different striders. I set mine down on one near the front of the caravan, and when everyone’s back is turned, I slip under the curtains at the back.
Soon I hear the workers walking away, and not long after feel the silt strider begin to move. I lay down and close my eyes.