Chapter 2: Can't break from my sins
Saleg was a thief.
He had always been a thief. Not for the advancement of his own ends, or the thrill of the hunt. No. He had taken to the ancient profession for the ancient reason. Necessity can cause even the most harmonious to turn to chaos. So when one born to chaos turns to the blessed disorder that theft provides, there is no need to weep. The poor man doesn't decide his fate, but most are smart enough not to fight it.
But Saleg was different. He fought the constant battle with his conscience every time necessity called for him to pick a pocket. He fought his fate, and never stopped fighting, and suffered daily for it. Those who turned to thievery for thrill be damned, for he could never enjoy it.
But necessity doesn't stop because you will it to.
"Stop the thief!"
"Get him!"
He ran. He ran as quickly as he could, and didn't stop until he was out of eyesight of the guards chasing him.
He had stayed in the port city of Seyda Neen for about ten days. It took three days for the small stipend the Census and Excise boys had given him to run out buying food from the only tradehouse in town. That left one week. With no trade to speak of, and no skills to use, he turned back to his only real gift: getting in trouble with local law enforcement. Funny, he thought, how often I get run out of town before a week goes by. At least I have a little money, if I ever find a place to buy something to eat.
Before long he came upon another sleepy village. Pelagiad, as he was to later find out. He was lucky. To get lost in Morrowind as unprepared as he was at that time is usually a certain death sentence. He had a few septims in his pocket for lunch and….
…And a knife in the belly.
Another Dark Elf. One who shared Saleg's own race… But not his culture. Saleg saw hatred in the Dunmer's eye. He saw hatred and anger, all because of the way he walked…
"Outlander Dunmer," the bitter Dark Elf hissed lowly. "The worst traitor to his own kind." With that the attacker twisted the knife in Saleg's gut. Saleg thought quickly. His stay in the glorious high security prison in the Imperial City had dulled his few skills. But one skill that was secured, even reinforced, in his dark cell and prison yards and labor camps, was the ability to take a makeshift knife and stay upright... and breathing. He had been forced to stay standing. Those who fall in prison are fair game to all prisoners, gang loyalties ceased for those few moments. Very few ever got back up again, and those who did often wished they hadn't.
He pushed his attacker off, and contemplated calling the local guard. Screaming might not do so well when an attacker is aiming a knife at your gut.
"Sleepers awake, traitor Dunmer, and you shall be the first victim. A fine blood to spill for Dagoth Ur." At the last foreign word, the mugger committed to his attack. Saleg grabbed the arm of the assailant and drove his elbow upwards, bending it the wrong way and breaking his arm. He felt the swell of pride in fighting off his mystery attacker, until the Dunmer swung his other arm. This time, the dagger went higher, better aimed with little thought of stealth this time. Saleg could feel himself starting to cough up blood, when everything went black.