A Pilgrim's Journeys

[sandstrake]

An innocuous, leather bound tome contains a number of entries and smells faintly of sea-salt and forge cinders. The text within is a strange scrawl of seeming gibberish, but there is a pronounced presence of Ancient Yokudan text and glyphs.

Forward upon decryption: “It has been some time since I last committed my thoughts through writing, and given recent events, it seems prudent to collect them, sort through them, and with the gods' wisdom and grace, determine my ultimate course of action. But for fear of this falling into the wrong hands, I have written the text in both Yoku, and in an obscure sailor’s cipher from my navy days. As Hunding proclaimed, “the battlefield begins in one’s mind”, so I cannot afford any disadvantage.


Sundas, 24th of Sun’s Dawn

Stros M’kai. A place of once great significance to my ancestors, now laid low as a shanty town of outsiders, smugglers, thieves and pirate scum.

A final indignity to be abandoned here like flotsam after my court martial in Hegathe. I was such a fool to not realize how my own efforts to gather evidence could be used against me, that propaganda for the Imperial faith, Daedric Artifacts and human slaves were being ferried into ports all along the southern coast of Hammerfell!

And the curs who I swore an oath to defend these seas and my people sat in mocking silence as I was dragged to Al-Azad’s mirrored tower for penance, and they deliberated my ultimate fate. Execution would have been preferable, and I prayed that if there were any righteousness to be found in my service to the Redguard people, it would reward me with honorable death. But no.

I remembered the kiss of the reflected sunbeams upon my blistered and bare flesh keenly as I was told my fate was exile and dispersal from naval service. A vicious twist of the knife, surely.

When I regained my sense of self and purpose, I found myself in the center of Port Hunding, just another sailor without a ship. For a time, I wallowed in defeat and despair, but the gods kept my hunger for retribution kindled. Hegathe was corrupted from the inside, and by something far worse than money-grubbing politicians. Whether they cared to accept it or not, my city needed my aid. I would deliver them from the infidels and abominations lurking behind the system of justice they had perverted to their ends.

However, without my crew or my vessel, and with my family severing all ties and support from me, it would be no easy task. What’s more, I had been forbidden from returning. I could not walk openly in Hegathe’s streets. At least not without a foolproof plan.

It was by the mercy of Morwha herself that I finally managed to secure a means off this shell of a great island. A certain “captain” has need of someone to gather her so-called “crew” and to help them perform an arduous task. If I aid them with their mission, she has promised me passage to the mainland in Khefrem. She is a Forebear wench, but I cannot afford to turn my nose up at this chance. Gods’ willing, I will reach the shores of Hammerfell by the morning tide.

[sandstrake]

Morndas, 15th of First Seed:

Abah’s Landing. Such a wretched port had never existed in all the seas of Tamriel. The streets reek of filth and desperation, the walls of many a grand edifice now crumbling and riddled with rickety shanty dwellings, clinging to their ancient walls like barnacles to a hull.

It is a quagmire of wasted opportunity, shame and failure, a haven for scoundrels of all sorts. Little better outside the walls either, plagued by Kava vermin and vicious beasts. No wonder the whole region earned the name of “Hew’s Bane”.

It was,unfortunately, my ultimate destination after aiding the Forebear from Stros M’kai. But I still sensed the gods' hand in my deliverance to this place. Perhaps it was meant to humble me, or to show me the fate of those who abandoned all hope. Either way, it was only fortuitous due to being the one port in Hammerfell the at-Vhosri family would have nothing to do with, and my best chance at securing work on a sailing vessel.

I had heard rumors the Iron Wheel of Rihad had made a point of setting up a headquarters here, but when I arrived, they all had been called back by order of their Magnifica, their commander removed from his position. So much for finding law abiding Redguards in this town. What’s worse, trading ships come in slower than I feared. Pirate scum and smugglers are always hiring, but I had enough dishonor on my hands.

I must do my best to be grateful for this period of lull and inaction, however. Within it, the gods have given me time to formulate my next move towards redemption and freeing my city from the corruption therein.

The Landing has no shortage of wandering nameless dregs sprawled out in the scant shade of this port of ill repute. Claiming a corner for some introspection is merely a matter of a scowl, a hard look, and maybe a glint of steel. These wastrels were little more than an assortment of petty criminals, vile skooma and daril addicts driven to all manner of vice to conceal their weakness and failure.

There were days when even my resolve began to falter, and I wondered if soon I would be little better off than they. There would be no more banquets to celebrate a successful return voyage in my family's estates. No more grand missions to serve the Redguard people. No more nights riding along the shore or contemplating the waves from a stately ship's cabin. There would be instead a haggard shell of what I once had been, clinging to life by scraping what little could be scrounged from the streets.

Like a rabid jackal.

Such has been the fate of many a dishonored Crown.

But with steadfast prayer and meditation, a course of action was revealed to me by the hands of the gods themselves.

It would be folly to try to appeal to those in power or authority in Hammerfell. Anyone who knew anything would likely be involved, and it was no less than the powers that govern Hegathe that brought about my downfall. The same for any military officials. Even if I were to try and approach the forces of the Daggerfall Covenant themselves, one look at the disgrace on my military record would impel them to turn me away.

Or worse, send me off to work as a knight for one of those scheming Breton nobles.

Appealing to respectable sailors for aid, information and work also had it's risks. Outside of Hammerfell I was more likely to succeed, but being too far away from my home while it festers with rot to it's core doesn't sit right with me.

But the answer had been all around me. The villains and charlatans that civil folk shunned would have answers for me. Particularly if I kept my ear to the underworld about any prominent smuggling operations. There would also be no shortage of dirty work I could do for these undesirables. A strong back is always in need, and a Redguard swordsman even more so. But I must take care not to sully my honor any further. Killing for the sake of a worthy cause is nothing new to me. But some lines should not be crossed. Not again.

I determined my best route forward was to frequent the port cities around the Illiac Bay, Sentinel in particular. Reaching it would be my first priority, but without my own vessel I am at the whim of other ships manifests.

A careless drunk has been blathering on about some Breton merchant with a vessel who is due for port soon. Supposedly he doesn't ask too many questions and is in need of more crew. I confess I am eager to set out upon the sea again and do some honest shipwork for a time. It has been many years since I worked as a deckhand, but so long as I keep my family name from the crew register I should be able to impress any mariner worth his salt.

Anselim, may the stars and wind favor us. The sooner I get away from the smell of this place, the better.

[sandstrake]

Tirdas,10th of Rain's Hand

Daggerfall. Securing passage was simpler than expected. The captain of the merchant vessel is both a moron and a weakling, and his crew knew as much. They were a number of good seafaring lads and lasses among their ranks, and I cannot say I didn't enjoy sailing alongside them.

They proved to be a wealth of important information to me, as they had been sailing the trade lines of the Covenant for some time. As far as work goes, there were plenty of ships hiring, and my best bet was to wait for one to make for Wayrest in the coming weeks. As the trading hub of Breton culture, and indeed the Daggerfall Covenant by extension, I would likely hear some news of Hammerfell there, though I doubted much could be gleaned regarding Hegathe itself. Being the most insular of all Redguard cities, word travels slowly if at all beyond the time-tested walls.

 And, as far as work that I could get without answering too many uncomfortable questions, the Fighter's Guild was always hiring. Their numbers have been severely depleted since defending Tamriel from the threat of the Planemeld, and there was plenty of sellsword work to be doing. There also might be one or two veterans from the crisis that might know more about particular Daedric cults, given their records. But asking openly about daedra is never an easy thing, unless you were some mage-scholar, and I loathe to turn to such craven sorts as the Mages' Guild for information, but that possibility cannot be closed to me.

They informed me as well of some less than legal means of gaining work through the series of underworks in the city. Known as Outlaw's Refuges, apparently every city in the Covenant and further afield had one. Here the city's most wanted criminals gathered, likely to exchange goods or information, and I was determined to see such a place for myself. I think every soldier in a position of authority understands implicitly there is some sort of collective rock that the scum hides beneath, but I never knew how true the sentiment was.

Setting foot inside the Refuge was easy enough, once you knew where to look. Many felons congregated around the sigil of the three-bladed dagger. It's significance beyond being a safe haven to traffic stolen goods and evade the law escapes me, but I imagine it has it's own legend to the underworld across every province. Indeed, within this place I found sights I never dreamed possible. Stalls of merchants for questionable goods, moneylenders capable of storing evidence in their strongboxes for a fee, and murderers with bounties on their heads lounging in plain sight. Even operating taverns beneath the city's streets.

I hoped Hegathe had no such pit of vipers beneath it, but the city was ancient and built over numerous ruins of the blasphemous Dwemer. I was beginning to understand how easily a society of scoundrels could thrive in the shadow of civility.
It was no wonder a cult and a smuggling ring could plague my city, if the Bretons were content to let so much of this go on in their cities.

In regards to the city of Daggerfall itself, I could say little made an impression on me. Very Breton. A massive, over-defended castle looming over varying degrees of what for their architecture could be considered impressive buildings. At least the taverns are easy to find.

Alas, with all the information I had gleaned since disembarking the ship and bidding farewell to my fellow sailors, both leads and work were slow going once more. Glenumbra was enjoying the longest bout of peace it could be afforded in a while, so sellsword work was hard to come by. The same for any more nefarious dealings, for which I am grateful. But as my pocket began to empty, it was none other than Onsi himself who delivered me.

An orc smith happened upon me in the market square and commented favorably on my scimitar. Upon learning I had been responsible for it's forging myself, he drafted me into his forge and commissioned several smaller blades and daggers for a large shipment due for the front lines of Cyrodil. I care little for the squabble over the Empire's carcass, but the pay was good, and the knowledge that even hastily forged blades could make the difference between a soldier's life or death gave my soul a kind of peace it had long been without since this journey began.

In a matter of weeks at this pace, I should have the coin to charter a vessel to Wayrest, should I desire it. But I'd much prefer work as a crewman to being a passenger any day.

May Morwha continue to grant me mercy in the days ahead.