Just as Sellus Gravius said, describing Seyda Neen as a town was being generous. Aside from the lighthouse and the Census Office, the only other large structure in town was a two story tradehouse. One side of the street had a few houses built in the Imperial style. The other side had a small cluster of clapboard shacks next to a muck-filled pond. Across a small stream stood a rough platform, and standing next to the platform was quite possibly the largest creature Averren had ever seen. It towered over even the Census Office, easily twice as high as the conical roof of the building's cupola. The legs were thicker than Averren's torso, while the creature's body looked like it could carry a few dozen people on its back without any difficulty. The knobby chitinous shell on the sides suggested equally good potential handholds on top.

As Averren gazed on the massive insect, he felt somebody bump into him lightly. Instantly, he snapped his gaze down, looking at a Bosmer with liquid black eyes. Averren had very mixed feelings about the Wood Elves. On the one hand, they were excellent shots with a bow, which made them dangerous to cross. On the other hand, they were small and nimble, which made them useful hands on certain extralegal activities.

"Sorry, stranger," burbled the Bosmer. "But I saw you coming out of the Census Office, and I was hoping you could help me."

"I might be able to," Averren replied cautiously.

"Well, you see, when the guards played their weekly game of 'shake down Fargoth,' that's me by the way, they took all my money as well as a certain ring. Old family heirloom, been with my family for generations. You wouldn't have seen an old ring laying around in there, would you?"

"What'd it look like?" asked Averren, having a pretty good idea already what the description would be.

"Nothing fancy. A plain band with a blue stone set into the center."

Reaching into his trousers, Averren opened the pouch and pulled out the ring he'd found, handing it to Fargoth. "I believe this is yours."

Fargoth's face lit up and he began to caper around Averren, hooting and yipping and making quite a scene. Averren let Fargoth celebrate a bit, then put a hand on the Bosmer's shoulder.

"You're welcome," he said gently.

"A thousand thanks to you, my new friend! Come, come! Let me repay the favor. I'll introduce you to Arrille. He'll help you out the same way you helped me out." Fargoth tugged on Averren's hand and guided him down the street a little ways to the only tradehouse in town. As they walked, a Legionnaire passed by them, elbowing Fargoth in the back and knocking him down. Averren's anger flared and he was a heartbeat from challenging the soldier when he realized it would be a losing proposition. He was unarmed and unarmored, while the Legionnaire was heavily armored and very well armed. As much as it offended him, he held his temper and his tongue, then helped Fargoth to his feet. The Bosmer had picked up a large bruise on his face, but didn't appear to suffered serious injury.

"You all right?"

"I'll live," Fargoth replied. "I guess I should be used to it by now." Averren caught Fargoth's hand moving out of the corner of his eye, and watched as the bruise began to fade rapidly. Fargoth's ring was enchanted, some sort of healing spell, perfect for minor wounds and injuries. Keeping his mouth shut, Averren allowed himself to be led to the tradehouse.

"Arrille!" cried Fargoth happily as he entered the tradehouse. "A new friend! He found my ring!"

Averren stepped inside after Fargoth, seeing an Altmer glance between him and Fargoth. The flat golden eyes sized up Averren quickly, as if they were able to strip a man of his flesh and look straight into his soul. He momentarily wondered just how long Arrille had been alive, and how long he'd been in this damp and dingy little town.

"You helped Fargoth get his ring back?" the Altmer asked quietly.

"I happened across it. And when he asked for it, it just didn't seem right to lie to him. After all, what's a ring to me right now? Got no use for it."

This answer seemed to please Arrille. "For that, I'll knock down the prices around here. You can take lodgings here, if you like. The normal price is ten drakes per night, but for you, five."

"Ten drakes a night?" Averren exclaimed in surprise. "Divines, I could have stayed in a place like this for two weeks or better on that money."

A knowing look came into Arrille's eyes. "You've been away a long time, haven't you?" he asked half-rhetorically.

"Too long, it appears."

"Times change, my friend. Things have gotten bigger, more expensive. Even in damp little squats like this, prices have only risen. Such is the march of time and money. They'll change again, better or worse, after enough time has passed."

Nodding in agreement, Averren dug into the purse and laid ten drakes down on the table. "For two nights."

"Make yourself at home." Arrille handed Averren a key.

The next couple days were certainly educational for Averren. Most of the regulars around the common room in Arrille's tradehouse were certainly willing to tell stories for the cost of a drink, and Averren eavesdropped on plenty more when he wasn't feeling particularly thirsty or generous at the time. The barmaid, Elone, was more than happy to fill in the numerous blanks in Averren's knowledge about Morrowind and Vvardenfell in particular. Apparently, when she wasn't tending bar, she hired herself out as a scout and guide for trade caravans or explorers. Though she admitted to not having seen every last inch of the island, she could confidently say she'd been around to most of the important spots and knew most of the various crossroads. Averren also learned some of the more cutthroat card games that were played in Vvardenfell, and wisely cut his losses, a lesson that a Nord named Hrisskar seemed have a great deal of trouble learning.

And then there were the many Legionnaires who patrolled the town day and night. When they weren't on duty, more than a few stopped into Arrille's tradehouse for a quick drink and a free moment to vent their frustrations to the open air. Some complained about the number of insects in Seyda Neen, especially the small bloodsucking variety that somehow found the holes in their armor better than any swordsman or assassin's dagger. Some complained about all the dampness and how it gave them the worst hacking coughs they'd ever had. Some complained about the lack of excitement in the area. A few of these complaints were readily countered by the complaint that there was plenty to do, they just couldn't leave town to get it done. They pointed out a small cave just down the coast a little ways, within easy walking distance of the town. They knew it was being used for smuggling, but Sellus Gravius wouldn't send a detachment to investigate.

When Averren asked Elone what cave the Legionnaires were talking about, she rolled her eyes as she cleaned a goblet. "It's a cave, just around the bend from the silt strider platform. And there are some people there trying to get into the smuggling business. I say 'trying' because they're quite obviously amateurs and that may be the only reason Sellus Gravius won't send troops in there. He figures they'll get themselves killed soon enough. They'll make the wrong deal or cross the wrong people and that will be that."

Moving downstairs, Averren paid for another night at the tradehouse, then asked to look through Arrille's equipment tables. After some testing, he settled on a cold-forged iron saber and some pieces of chitin armor, not enough to fully cover him, but enough to protect the vital parts. Arrille didn't ask questions, but he had a suspicion Averren was about to go looking for trouble.

Trying to keep a low profile as he walked through town, Averren walked past the silt strider platform down along the waterline, then stopped just short of the cave entrance. It looked out on the beach, wide open, practically inviting somebody to poke their head inside. Nearby was a small shallow inlet that would work perfectly for some sort of small boat, even a small sailboat if you were willing to row out a bit first. This had to be the place. Even if it turned out to be nothing than an animal den, it would be good practice for Averren's rusty skills. Sitting down on a rock, Averren donned the breastplate first, then pulled on a pair of close fitting gauntlets, a snug pair of chitin boots, and finally a slightly dented Legion surplus helm, the chainmail neck cape making a faint scraping sound against the back of the chitin breastplate. Drawing his saber, Averren entered the cave.

The air in the cave was slightly damp with a mixed smell of salt and mold, some faintly phosphorescent mosses clinging to the rocky walls in small blobs in various places. Further in, Averren could make out a flickering light, probably a cooking fire or a brazier of some sort. The cave was undoubtedly occupied. But then again, he'd known that coming in here.

Treading ever so softly, Averren made his way towards a large chamber. A rickety set of stairs curved down along the wall to the chamber floor, a small cooking fire sitting in the middle of the chamber, a rowboat overturned and propped up against the wall. A single Dunmer woman sat on a stool, the hilt of a slim dagger sticking out of the top of her boot, her back to the cave entrance. On the opposite wall, a battered ramshackle gate served as a rude barrier to the next chamber. Averren began to creep down the stairs, inching his way down. It was slow going, moving as if through a river of tar, but he stayed dead silent. He froze as the Dunmer stood up, went over to the gate, then moved back over to the stool, sitting down and resuming her vigil over the fire. She hadn't seen him. All he had to do now was take his next step . . .

The board splintered with a nerve shattering crack.

Instantly, the Dunmer woman sprang to her feet and came running up the stairs with her dagger drawn. Averren barely registered he was in danger before the first dagger thrust came straight for his heart. His hand brought the blade of his saber up, the steel knife blade skittering down the edge of the sword in a rough effort to deflect the blow. The smuggler immediately took a swing at him with her off hand, forcing Averren to pull back a little. Dropping back a step, the smuggler began weaving the knife back and forth in front of her body, hoping to distract Averren. Refusing to fail for the bait, Averren used the reach on his weapon to take a few swipes at her, the tip grazing the back of her knife hand. The smuggler snarled and charged, the knife aimed for Averren's belly. Making a clumsy swing, Averren parried the stroke, forcing her knife hand out towards the chamber. Without hesitation, she kicked him square in the gut, putting him on his back, his saber hanging over the edge of the stairs.

"Picked the wrong cave, n'wah," the smuggler sneered as she brought her dagger to point at his chest.
Even with the helm in place, Averren's peripheral vision was still good enough to give him a wide view of his surroundings. He caught sight of the splintered stair board that had betrayed his position to the smuggler, the cheap nails that had secured it rusty and loose. In a flash, Averren decided to make a gamble.

Bringing his heel down hard, the board broke in half, the two halves flying up and smashing the smuggler's wrist, forcing her to drop the dagger. Bringing his saber around, Averren slashed her belly, the tip carrying through to the stone, striking sparks as the smuggler clutched at her midsection in a futile effort to keep her entrails from spilling out. Before she could call for help, Averren drove the point of the saber straight through her heart, the body slowly collapsing against him.

Cursing silently to himself, Averren pushed the corpse off, then pulled himself into a crouch, saber at the ready, expecting reinforcements. His wait wasn't very long. Another Dunmer came through the gate on the other side of the chamber, wearing a simple green homespun robe and sandals. He immediately spied Averren and the corpse of his partner, figured out what happened, then began snarling in a strange language. Flames began to dance along the smuggler's fingertips as the incantation continued. Even after thirty years, Averren knew when magic was being used and how to recognize most basic spells. Like the fireball the smuggler was now launching towards him.

Throwing himself off the stairs, Averren felt the billowing heat behind him as the fireball smacked into the chamber wall. He landed close to the new opponent and immediately tried a sweeping cut across the smuggler's belly. The mage jumped back a step, a dagger dropping from his sleeve and into his hand fluidly. Not wishing to be skewered or flash- fried, Averren swept the smuggler's legs out from under him. The smuggler landed on his back with a grunt, the dagger flying out of his hand. Averren pounced on him immediately, driving the point of his saber through one of the smuggler's lungs. The smuggler began coughing up blood as he began a new incantation, eldritch flames sparking on his fingertips, then snuffing out as he expired.

Averren drew the saber from his second corpse, then sighed softly. Whatever he found in here would have to be awfully valuable to risk one's life over.

"What's going on here?!" demanded a voice from Averren's left.

Without hesitation, Averren's arm snapped out, the tip of the saber slicing open a Dunmer woman's throat right at the windpipe, a steel shuriken dropping to the ground with a muted clinking sound, her face terminally surprised. A shudder coursed through Averren as the body came to rest on the floor of the cave, the blood now flowing out of her neck in thick runnels. He hadn't fought so hard in a long time, and certainly not with such deadly results.

Going through the gate, Averren looked carefully on both sides. Another rickety staircase, one leading down to a torch lit cave, the other leading up to a more dimly lit cavern with a crude fence across the mouth. Averren mentally flipped a coin and headed up the stairs. The fence, rough as it was, managed to have an equally crude gate, a single key hanging on a nail driven in the cave wall to the side. Holding up the torch, Averren peeked through the pickets of the fence. He saw shapes moving in the gloom, but they remained indistinct. He snagged the key, fitted it to the lock, and opened it, then stepped into the chamber.

The torchlight revealed a small group of Khajiiti and Argonians, all of them moving about listlessly in the gloom, all them with glazed looks in their eyes, all of them with a heavy metal bracer locked tightly around their wrist. An Argonian shambled over to Averren, the clouded look in his eyes not quite cloaking a spark of intellect.

"Key," it hissed weakly, slowly raising his wrist.

Averren studied the bracer closely for a moment, finding a locking mechanism built into the side of the bracer. Taking the key he'd used for the gate, he tested the lock, finding it slid in only about halfway. A large notch in the key, right at that point, however, left Averren free to turn the key. With a click, the bracer popped off and fell to the ground. Life flooded into the Argonian's eyes, and a fanged smile beamed at Averren, the voice stronger and more sibilant.

"Thank you, friend, for you have saved me from the slave markets."

"Slaves?!" Having grown up in the Imperial City, the idea of slavery was abhorrent to Averren.

The Argonian nodded and continued. "Without you, we would have been sold to the highest bidder, perhaps in Molag Mar, or in Tel Mora. But now, we are free." Bending down to pick up the bracer, the Argonian pulled the key from the lock and began to remove the bracers from his comrades. "We will decide where to go from here. If you are interested, there are many crates in the chamber below. Perhaps some of the goods inside will be of some use to you."

"There's a boat in the main chamber," offered Averren. "You could drag it out, try making it to the mainland."

"My thanks again, but there are those who will shelter us. Do not worry. Forget you have seen us. It will make your life easier." The freed slaves filed out of the pen and to the main chamber. Averren could hear them spitting on the bodies of their deceased captors as they passed. As they were moving the boat out to the beach, Averren explored the lower chamber. Several crates sat haphazardly stacked along one wall. It took Averren the better part of an hour to get them lined up on the ground to better examine their contents.

The results were disappointing to say the least. Some herbs and spices, some worn wooden kitchen implements, several sets of clothes that had started to turn moldy from the conditions in the cavern, a few musty pillows, and other brick-a-brack that Arrille wouldn't pay a bent drake for if he was ordered to at sword point. The last crate seemed to most lucrative of the bunch, containing some slightly rusty iron weapons and a badly nicked silvered longsword, along with a pitted steel breastplate with gauntlets. It was only after removing the breastplate that Averren noticed a thick bulging leather pouch laying at the bottom of the crate. Taking it out, he tested the weight in his hand. Bulky, but fairly light. Some raw semi-precious stones, perhaps. Opening the bag, Averren looked into it, a faintly cloying smell wafting up to his nose.

His mind instantly recognized the smell, forcing his hand to drop the pouch and exhale hard through his nose. Moon sugar! That's how the smugglers had hoped to make it big. Capture the slaves, use the moon sugar to keep them docile, and sell off whatever was left after disposing of the slaves. Ambitious, but stupid. Much like what Elone had told him.

It took a little work, but Averren managed to jury rig a litter to carry the salvageable goods back to the tradehouse. He left the moon sugar and the junk behind. He didn't think he'd be needing it in Balmora.
Arrille proved to be a brutally shrewd negotiator with a discerning eye, but ended up paying Averren eighty-five drakes for his collection. A pittance of its true value, Averren was sure, but he knew he was not up to snuff as far as haggling went. All told, Averren now had one hundred and fifty some odd septims to his name. He was feeling pretty good about the whole adventure, all things considered when he ran in Vodunius Nuccius. If Seyda Neen had a town loser, Nuccius was it. He got by on odd jobs and charity, and it showed in his threadbare clothes, the slightly stooped posture, and the world-worn note in his voice.

"Hello, Averren," smiled Vodunius weakly.

"Hello, Vodunius. How're you doing?"

"I've had better days, but you know that. I was thinking about Cyrodiil today. How much I miss the Imperial City. My brother and I used to have a nice little shipping company there, organizing wagon caravans here and there. We were going to start on the sea lanes, but then. . .the accident, you know."

Averren nodded. He'd heard this story before, though the exact nature of "the accident" was never mentioned. Whatever it was, it had led Nuccius to Vvardenfell, and ultimately Seyda Neen.

"Heard there's a ship coming in tonight from Solitude, bound for the City. If it's the one I'm thinking of, I hear that they're part of a trading company that ships up around there a lot, based out of home. I asked them the last time if they'd be willing to take on a passenger in steerage, they said it'd be seventy-five drakes. I've been trying to get the money together, but I can never quite seem to make it."
Again, Averren nodded. Nuccius couldn't bluff to save his life.

"I know this may sound pretty desperate, but I know you've got some money in your purse, and I still have enough of my pride not to beg from a recent acquaintance. So, I'd like to sell you something. A trinket I picked up somewhere a long time ago. I've avoided selling it because there's a defect in it." Nuccius reached in his pocket and pulled out a thick gold band with a slightly dull finish to it, perhaps from lack of regular cleaning. "Used to be, these were given to Legion scouts when they needed to make a hasty escape from an impending battle. Except this one makes the wearer pay for the gift of fleet steps. You'll run faster than you ever have before, but it'll hurt you to do so." Nuccius looked at Averren closely. "I wouldn't sell this cursed item if I didn't need the money, Averren. And I wouldn't recommend you using it, but it seems only fair I tell you about it now instead of selling it and having you find out the hard way later. I may be poor, but I'm not a swindler."

Smiling and shaking his head softly, Averren took the ring and looked at it carefully. "How much?"

"A hundred fifty, I should say."

Averren opened up his coin purse and counted out the coins, leaving himself with only a few. "Make the most of it, Vodunius. Second chances don't come along often."

"I will, Averren." Nuccius squeezed Averren's shoulder firmly, smiling fully for the first time in what looked like a very long time.

Crashes and clatterings came from the tradehouse as Fargoth ran out the door and down the street, with Hrisskar in hot pursuit and roaring.

"Come back here, you miserable fetcher!"

"You'll have to catch me first!" squeaked Fargoth as he ran pell-mell out into the swampy woods. Hrisskar stopped at the edge of a mere and bellowed at the Bosmer's retreating form.

"I'll beat that hiding place out of you yet!" Look red faced from exertion and embarrassment, Hrisskar went back into the tradehouse.

Sunset spilled over Seyda Neen like a casually dropped veil. From his vantage point, Averren watched Vodunius Nuccius' ship carry him towards the horizon. He silently prayed life would be better to Nuccius back where he belonged. Then Averren resumed his vigil, laying prone on the platform at the top of the lighthouse, waiting. The last of Averren's coins had been spent on buying Hrisskar drinks, getting the Nord tipsy enough to wheedle out of him what he'd been chasing Fargoth for earlier that day. The Bosmer, from what Hrisskar could figure, had to have a hiding place, a stash of loot he wasn't telling anybody about. There was no way he could be surviving the way he did on the odd jobs he did around town. Somehow, he had to have a stash.

Averren kept still on the platform as darkness fell. He didn't know for sure that Fargoth's stash was somewhere in town, but it was the most likely area to watch since Fargoth himself didn't stray too far from town except when trying to avoid Hrisskar and the other bullies in town. And having a stash out in the wilderness was too risky, too easy for somebody to stumble on and loot. Fargoth would want to keep it close by, but well hidden, the better to keep an eye on. His body began to feel very stiff, but he couldn't move yet. He'd stay put here if it killed him. Patience, after all, was a virtue he'd learned a very long time ago, and thirty years in prison couldn't dull it.

Just after the smaller moon rose over the horizon, Averren caught sight of Fargoth. The Bosmer seemed to be aimlessly wandering the street of Seyda Neen, but to Averren's trained eye, he could see Fargoth was trying to make sure nobody was following him. After several minutes, Fargoth ambled his way over to a muck filled pool with a rotten stump more or less in the center. For the next few minutes, Fargoth crouched in that pool, his hands under the surface under the water. Then, the Bosmer walked away, his route still circuitous, returning to his own little hovel.

Averren slid back along the platform until the great bonfire masked him from view, then stood up and stretched out. He'd borrowed a rope from the lighthouse keeper, not explaining why he needed it, and had anchored it to a support holding up the platform. Kicking the rope over the side, Averren worked his way down to the ground, then made a bee line for the stump. He reached under the water's surface, feeling around the sides of the stump under he felt a hollow spot. Reaching in, Averren pulled out a box and opened it. A heavy leather purse occupied most of the space, with the rest containing a decent set of lockpicks, and the ring that Averren had recovered earlier.

"Sorry, Fargoth," Averren murmured, "but I think I might be needing this more than you right now. I'll pay you back for it, someday." He emptied the box into his pack, then put the box back into its spot under the water. Averren stepped out of the pool and headed down the road, pausing to recover the moon sugar from the cave. As much as he hated the stuff, he had a feeling he might need to sell it off someplace. If he didn't get caught. As the moons continued to rise in the sky, Averren walked down the road to Balmora.