Chapter Text
My name is Adama Petroclus and prior to the recent unpleasantness, I was a tenured professor at the Imperial College of Cyrrodil, having held that post for several years despite the happy circumstance of never having left the bounds of the Imperial City. The indiscretions that led to my current state of affairs are of interest only to the academic, and further a matter of public record. As such I will not relate them in detail here. Suffice to say that I was less than popular with both my peers and also the Dean and Archchancellor that when a request came for a geographic account of the ports and coastlines of the Island of Vvardenfell, I was informed that my passage had already been booked on the next available ship to Morrowind.
The trade with Morrowind and particularly with the island of Vvardenfell is small but immensely valuable. From the Imperial Province, brandy, gold and silver, the learning of the Imperial Cult and the might of the Imperial Legions go east, and in return ebony and raw glass and Dwemer artifacts return to Cyrrodil. The ships are small and not built for the passenger trade. I was spared a single chest for my belonging and a hammock in the single shared cabin, and confined below decks on any day that the weather was less than pleasant, which was most of them. But eventually, I was informed that we were approaching Vvardenfell, and brought up on deck.
Our vessel made port in Seyda Neen, a small hamlet consisting largely of the Census and Excise office, a tradehouse, and a lighthouse, on the southwest corner of the island. It was built in the Imperial style, or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof, and despite its small size and lack of amenities is the first port of call for vessels calling at the western half of the island. The vessel stopped barely long enough for a cursory inspection by the Excise agent, escorted by a soldier of the Imperial Legion, and for myself to disembark before continuing on to traverse the Odai River and make its final destination at the city of Balmora.
As for myself, once my credentials had been accepted and my belongings searched for contraband, it was suggested that I hire a local guide or bodyguard, for the island of Vvardenfell is hazardous to the unprepared. I felt this suggestion to have merit, and had sufficient funds with me for such an appointment and so took myself off to the Tradehouse. The institution of the Tradehouse, while common in Morrowind, is not one I am aware of being present elsewhere in the Empire. They serve as a combination tavern, meeting house, market and inn, with sparse rooms being available for rent for various durations at extortionate fees. It must however be said that any deficit in the accommodations is compensated for with overpriced food, watered down drinks, and rough company. It was in this rough company that I first made the acquaintance of Herger the Cheerful.
I had successfully negotiated a room for the night and an evening meal with the Altmer who owned and operated the Tradehouse, and was attempting to enjoy my meal of bread and stew, washed down with a foul local concoction known as Greef, that I bore witness to a brief altercation. A neighbouring table had been occupied in a game of chance, of which sort I had not being paying sufficient attention to tell, when two of the gamers, both Dunmer by the tone of their skin, accused the third of cheating. His protestations of innocence were met with threats of violence. The accused, a Nord of middling stature, middling dress, and surprisingly tolerant manner for a native of Skyrim, continued to protest his innocence, importuning the other two to settle down and return to the game, when one of the Dunmer drew a knife.
(I find it necessary to note that this is uncommon even in the rougher tradehouses. Most of them routinely have members of the local watch assigned to oversee them and prevent violence.)
Before the local watchman could intervene, the Nord rose to his feet, and lashed out with a fist. The Dunmer with the knife dropped like a stone, and the Nord slid his winnings across the table.
“See to your friend.” Was all he said, before leaving the room for his lodgings. I made a note to make inquiries about the gentleman, as a fighter of that calibre would make for a suitable guide. Come morning, I was able to secure the Nord’s services as guide and bodyguard, at least as we traversed the western coast. As stated, his name was Herger, and he was travelling to the port of Khuul to meet with his kin and their trading vessel. He had fallen afoul of one of the many fevers that plague Vvardenfell, and had been left behind to recover while his compatriots travelled to fulfill their prior obligations. He had intended to travel by Silt Strider, the huge domesticated arthropods used by the native Dunmer as beasts of burden, however given the opportunity to earn some extra coin, was not averse to taking the long way round.
At Herger’s insistence I invested in some armour and a weapon, and we spent the rest of the day gathering supplies for our travels and making other preparations. Of the few options available at the Tradehouse, I found a sleeved vest and trews made of the light yet durable leather of the Netch, another domesticated arthropod found in Vvardenfell. This was considered by my new companion to be the lightest acceptable attire for traversing the Bitter Coast, and it was accompanied by a short sword ground down from the chitinous shell of a deceased silt strider. Our provisions consisted of a small collection of curative and restorative potions, proofs against some of the more common and less virulent diseases and against various poisons and paralytics.
For foodstuffs we packed the jerked meat of the Scrib, the juvenile form of the Kwama, a communal arthropod whose eggs and meat are one of the primary sources of protein in Vvardenfell, along with parched saltrice and a good supply of both clean water and local spirits, the aforementioned greef, and also shin and sujamma. The following morning we departed, crossing a small bridge over the narrow channel that separated the bulk of Seyda Neen from the rest of Vvardenfell, and setting out along a poorly marked trail to the west of the town.