Authors note: "Sload Soap is a waxy substance made from the immature non-sentient forms of the Sload" – this is a description of one of the many alchemical ingredients that comes from a living being. Think about it. Couldn't a 2-month old man or mer be described with some accuracy as an 'immature non-sentient form'? In my book harvesting sentient critters even when they are 'too young' to be sentient is just plain evil. Of course what with legal slavery and soul-trapping, there are lots of ethically questionable things going on in Morrowind.
Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own creation. Reviews and plot bunnies are always appreciated; any used plot bunnies will be credited.
Midnabi sighed in relief as the Imperial guard slumped even more, his snoring getting louder. Silently she cast another brief communication spell, and murmured to the little sload tucked under her tunic. 'He's deeply asleep now, it's time to go'
The response was a mixture of surprise, confusion and an image of a too-dry too-hot struggling fairly shapeless entity.
No, she sent to the sload. He's not dying, he's resting. Sleeping. Did sload not sleep? Midnabi tried to send sequential images of herself under sunlight walking around harvesting plants, and then when the sun set, laying down and closing her eyes and covering up with a blanket and sleeping.
The response she got back felt like someone shaking their head in confusion. A sense of silver jaws swimming to attack, and with eyes closed, there was no warning. Then an echo of Midnabi's image of being under a blanket, limbs tangled, quickly followed by images of struggling, silver flashing of jaws and bursts of blood and bits of flesh in an expanding cloud in the water.
The spell expired at that point. Which was about the only reason that Midnabi didn't actually throw up.
Carefully she crept through the tangled path between barrels. Glancing at the floor, she noted that the damp trail that the little sload had made was dry. Good. It wouldn't be obvious that one of the captives had escaped.
She also noted that the sleeping guard had a leather satchel. She was tempted, but only for a moment. No one would miss one of the sload. A hired guard would certainly miss his personal effects.
Wait, she thought to herself. Personal. Before going she should really look around. What else might there be several of in the hold here; that maybe she could take one or two without being noted? There were a number of crates. She eased herself along them, and checked the nearest to see how tightly it was sealed.
The first one she checked didn't open easily, so she let it go. The second wasn't fastened well at all, and she cautiously reached inside. Packed among what felt like whickwheat straw were many cool, possibly ceramic items. She ran her fingertips over what she could reach. Differing widths of rounded flat things. Plates? Platters? It didn't seem like any two were exactly the same. Probably a collection of similar items, as opposed to a set, so she decided that she could probably take one or two without anyone the wiser.
Carefully she eased one out, and slowly tucked it under her shirt. As it brushed against the sload, she felt the little one's startled reaction. Quickly she cast her spell.
'Sorry to surprise you like that,' She sent, 'I wanted to take something valuable from here. We'll need money.'
She was unprepared for the detailed response. Counting and calculations; distance and travel, increasing the value of what was harvested by bringing it where few such were to be found. Satisfaction with each transaction. Then a sense of companionship between them, gold exchanged for … something she couldn't follow. Dark, crystalline … blood maybe? Solid pieces of blood?
She cast the spell again, and held still, concentrating on the detailed imagery.
Thick, slow, glacial flows, gathered up in stone hollows, or teased out by *skill* or *power*? After a moment she decided it must mean magick. Then a sense of hollowness with the 'drops' and then a sense of gore and death, and then an echo of gore and death within the 'drops'? Then a sense of reaching out, of the sload wanting some kind of … acknowledgement?
She shook her head. They might be the same age, but she was beginning to get the feeling that in some ways, this little one was much more experienced, and possibly much smarter than she was.
She cast again. She was starting to get a little tired.
Okay, start simple. What's valuable from the sea? She pictured herself taking pearls from a large kollop shell. Then trading the pearls to Trasteve, the dark-skinned R'gatta for gleaming septims. Then she visualized trading the septims to the dour dunmer Dalam Gavyn who then hammered layers of chitin to create a sword. Then she visualized trading septims to golden haired Perien Aurelie, and getting a bowl of stew and eagerly devouring it.
She felt an eager reply; taking pearls from the shallows, with an exact pile of septims superimposed over them. Then slowly travelling to dryer places (inland, she translated to herself), with the superimposed pile of septims growing larger. Clearly the sload understood the principals of trade.
Then she heard quick steps and dunmer voices.
Her heart sank.
At the same time, she felt a quick prodding of energy and magic from the sload, felt the plate taken from her hands and held tightly, and small hands reach for hers.
Well, if the sload had an idea for a spell that would save them, then by Azura she'd hold magicka. She closed her eyes, and tried to offer as much as she could. Unfortunately she was drained by her recent spellcasting. She hoped what little still remained would be enough.
She could feel her friend flicker through disappointment, understanding, concentration, and then an intent twist of spellweaving.
As soon as the sensations faded, she made her way to the back of the boat. If she could climb out the way she'd gotten in, no one should be the wiser. Behind her she could hear the sounds of the hatch being opened. Then the startled snort of the guard waking up. Good, he was worried about his employer for the moment, not about her.
She crept slowly along, and felt the tingle of magick sweep over her. For a moment she saw her own hands fade from view. It was very disorienting. Half closing her eyes, she concentrated on the feel of the ship, not what she was seeing. Waves of energy alternated with moments of seeing her hands more or less clearly.
She kept moving, and soon she could feel the little sload trembling. But still her hands kept on fading from her sight.
Away from the ship, she patted the sload. Casting her own spell one last time, she murmured. 'We are out of the ship. I'll take us to a place to hide, and you can rest.'
At first, a brief sense of agreement, and a whisper of hunger was all she got back. Then an echo of something that the sload had sent earlier. A very large sload weaving magick; holding a black "drop", images of swirls of blood, and then paired hands, the sloads and hers, holding something that brimmed with magika.
At first Midnabi kept trudging along. In her repeated quests to find alchemical ingredients for Telura, she knew a couple of hiding spots that should be safe for a while. One in particular, a hollowed out oversized ferntree husk, had been tipped by a storm and should provide safety as well as shelter from all but the worst weather.
As she was approaching it, mulling over the sload's imagery, she suddenly stopped dead.
"Wait." She was so surprised that she actually spoke out loud. "You want us to find someone who can make a soul gem?"
Could they actually be made?
She tried casting her spell again, but there was no answer from the sload. Exhausted, probably. Hungry, it had said. She detoured to harvest everything that she knew was edible, and a few things that at least weren't toxic. After a rest, both of them were going to be plenty hungry.
Still, she kept wondering. Could soul gems be made? Did Telura know about this?