Fear and Loathing in Vvardenfell

The Sujamma of Almas Thirr...and Old Ebonhart

I hauled my five bottles of sujamma back to where our trading caravan was. I was drunk and the world swayed and shifted around me as I hobbled towards the wagon. A few of the workers eyed me curiously. What was I hauling back with me? Alcohol, that's what. Sujamma, the best liquor I had ever drank. Hits like a minotaur's club. I needed to be well stocked for this massive adventure of mine even if each bottle cost 40 septims; it was well-worth the cost. I couldn't help but fantasize about what I'd ask a living god.

"Watch out boys, I got a load of precious goods that I need to load here into this here wagon, got it? You break one of these bottles by getting in my way, well, I'll fucking shank you with this dagger. It's never been used -- as sharp as the day it was forged -- and it'll cut through your flesh like nothing! Blood'll be everywhere."

"Are you okay?" S'zami, the Khajiit, asked as I stumbled and shambled towards the wagon.

"I've never been better. I, no we, need to get to Vivec -- the city that is, not the god -- right away. Let's get the hell out of here!" I dropped my bottles recklessly into the back of the wagon. A job well done.

"We are still loading the wagons. Checking numbers. Barbak over there still has to check the numbers and balance the sheets."

"Who the fuck is Barbak? Let me talk to him!" I slurred my words towards S'zami, the only one of the group that felt the need to speak up regarding my actions.

"He's the Orc over there. With the clipboard." He nodded his head towards a burly, two-meter-tall monster of a being. Barbak the Orc. Holy shit. He was carefully counting the items being loaded and unloaded into the wagon and doing complex math. Apparently in charge of the logistics in and out of Almas Thirr, he was taking his job seriously. I didn't care about this though. We needed to leave now. Didn't they have any regard for serious reporting? Disseminating the truth, the news, the struggles of all races around Tamriel? We couldn't wait.

I walked over to Barbak and even his intimidating appearance from a distance didn't do him justice: He was a wall. A giant, muscular, green and grey wall. With a clipboard. The clipboard, his gentle writing and calculating contrasting hilariously with his stature.

"Hey, Barbak, right? Right. Can you hurry the hell up here. I'm a bigshot reporter for the Cyrodiilian Times and we need to leave right now. I have stories to cover. Stories so important that mundane trade matters probably shouldn't matter much. Just make some numbers up or something."

He scowled at me. "The numbers must be checked, double checked, and balanced. The numbers have to add up, Imperial. It's my job, and I do my job with pride. I'm sorry. I only require another half-hour or so. We're about done."

The sujamma was coursing through my veins, giving me quite a bit of strength, the urge to take matters into my own hand, along with a horribly crippled sense of judgement. I was a drunken idiot which at the time I wasn't really aware of.

"No. We need to leave now." I glanced at the clipboard. "Let me see that thing." I reached my hand towards it.

He slapped my hand with the clipboard and it mildly stung. "No. Go away. Now. This is your last warning..." He still looked calm, but I could see fury building up in his yes.

"I said, give me the goddamn clipboard!"

"If you want it so badly, take it. It's right here. Take it. I warn you though: you'll regret it."

I reached for it and was swiftly punched in the gut.

"You motherfucker!" I gasped through the pain. "I'll fucking kill ya!" I charged at him only to be greeted by a powerful punch directly to the face and I went down instantly. The sujamma had my back though. I quickly stood up, charged at him again, and was promptly punched in the face again, this time harder and directly above my right eye. Hello ground my old friend. One more attempt, I got this. He would pay. Charging him again failed miserably as you could expect. Barbak was an impossibly strong Orc and no amount of sujamma would change this fact. This time he was done playing games. He picked me up, put me over his shoulder, and slammed me down into the ground violently with as much effort as massive Barbak could muster.

The last thing I remembered was falling towards the ground, seeing the clear blue sky and sun above me, and then, nothing. Blackness darker than black. It was nothing.

***

After I found myself conscious again I couldn't do much besides pick up the pieces of the memories from the previous day. The temple. My goddamn five bottles of sujamma. My lack of money. The terrible bloody and swollen wound above my eye. That goddamn Barbak. I had no income until, well, I didn't even know when. I'd have to send off reports, reports I haven't even properly written yet, to the Imperial City and maybe then I'd get paid. The Imperial Shrine in Ebonhart was my first hope for finding money, and I had an entire day and a half before I was there. Maybe they sent me an advance? But if not, what could I eat? What could I drink? I eyed the bottles of sujamma skeptically and held the only 6 septims I had left after my 'adventure.' 6 septims wouldn't buy a damn thing and I knew it.

By this time my 'friends' in the caravan were acting more like friends than they were a few hours ago. They joked and gave me shit, but in a friendly and non-threatening manner. As the sun set in the west, things were looking bleak, but miles better than they were hours ago.

"The knot on your head makes you look like a damn ogrim!"

"Did you even get a hand on Barbak's clipboard? That would've showed him."

"That Orc was twice your size!"

"What were you thinking? Oh right! You weren't thinking!"

"Heart of a Daedra, body of an Imperial, am I right?!"

"Hope you enjoy living off sujamma for a few days, because you can't afford nuthin' else!"

"Are you going to write a news story about this incident? Big news. Big reporter."

I drank the rest of my open bottle of sujamma. To soothe the wounds. To rid me of my headache. To allow me to deal with my companions for the next few hours. To give me something to satisfy my empty stomach.

The city of Old Ebonhart loomed on the northern horizon. A wall surrounding the city like a shell protecting it from any outside threats. The shops, homes, apartments, and inns with spires that rose above the wall like wide arrows. The tops of ships docked on the far side of town poked their sails also above the walls in strange geometric shapes. Triangular sails, square sails, trapezoidal sails, and T-like sails that hadn't yet been unfurled. And the most impressive and noticeable feature? Ebon Tower: the central governmental authority in Morrowind stood above everything else, a finger-silhouette standing black against the darkening but still luminescent skies. A sign of the Septim's and The Empire's dominance over one of the wildest and most independent provinces ever to bend their knee: Morrowind. And beyond all of this: the Inner Sea. And beyond that: Vvardenfell. I was almost there. My main goal. The adventure. The story itself.