Act I, Part VII: Betrayal By Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger I’m writing this as I’m once again beneath a bed and I can hear the chaotic thuds of a thousand boots hitting the ground out of sync. They’re looking for me and rightfully so—I killed him. I’ve never killed anyone before, but I killed him. I don’t know why; I didn’t have to, I could’ve snuck past him, but I did it. It wasn’t some act of bravado or courage. He was a wretched little thing and snapping his neck was like snapping a twig and I wish I felt guilty, but I don’t. The way he looked at them, the way he called them unworthy—the way he seemed to enjoy pushing his way around them as they dragged themselves looking for anyway out of the bleak hell that had become their existence. Gabrin needed to die and I’d kill him again if I had the chance, but who knows, maybe killing him is why I’ll die here tonight—it doesn’t matter though—if nothing else, I finally did something with my life that’s worth being proud of. I killed a monster. It’s funny. For the first time in my life, I’m not afraid—I’m not afraid of these goblins getting me, I’m not afraid of Sero, I’m not afraid of anything really—I just am. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been so scared of dying for so long that it’s just numb now or maybe it’s the fact that I killed him—I don’t know. I don’t think it matters, but if I get out of here, I’ve got proof of what’s down here. I’ve got the idol that little gremlin always had dangling off his belt and it’s so interesting to touch—it’s hard, but it has a slippery surface about it like ash and though the exterior is cold, you can feel a warmth emanating from inside of it. It’s faint, but it’s there, just like that soft melody coming from it. They both feel so far away but I can feel them all the same—whatever this thing is—I don’t trust it. I don’t like it. But I can’t deny that there’s something about it take piques my curiosity more than it should. I’ve spent the last few hours just brushing my fingers over it, every curve and indent and familiarizing myself with its pristine sculpting. Not a single nick, a single scratch, it’s just—interesting how fine this thing has been preserved and the craftsmanship behind it. Just interesting. Even though I find myself compulsively touching the idol and playing with it in some form or another, I can’t deny there’s something wrong with it. Something very wrong. But this is just what I need to show to them what’s down here, but I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t think I don’t have a chance of getting to New Balmora without getting jumped by Sero’s men. I’ll have to figure out something with Skriiva even though I don’t have that damned book. I feel bad—I know she wanted it—but damn—things have gone straight to hell down here. I never imagined things would be this bad, but they really are. It’s funny though—this all started because of some damn book on growing mushrooms so Skriiva could get better shrooms to make better Quab. Ha. Funny how things change so quick. I knew this was a suicide mission from the get go, but I didn’t imagine it’d run like this. Oh well, I don’t hear footsteps so I better start moving. * * * My head hurts and I can barely see, but I’m doing my best to write this in the dark. I can smell dried blood and I can feel it on my face—something got me. Something got me good and I don’t know if I made it out or what, the last thing I remember was coming out a door and then just everything going black. It’s like somebody blew out all the candles at once, because one second I was there and then—I wasn’t—and now I’m here—wherever here is. I don’t hear the patrols though so maybe it wasn’t them, but I’ve still got a collar around my neck and a thick chain attached to the ground. At least I can write while I wait for whoever—or whatever—got me to come check up on me. It’s cold here though, not like New Vivec. New Vivec was warm and humid—this place—it’s got a certain chill to it that penetrates to the bones and I don’t like it. I don’t lik—the idol’s missing. Damnit. Damnit. Damnit! Did they take it from my bag? Did it get dropped? Damnit, where the hell is that idol? I need it. I have to get it to New Balmora or else the Council will never believe me about what’s going on down here, but it’s gone. Damnit! Someone’s coming. I better put this down and be ready to defend myself, as best I can with this big steel collar around my neck. * * * I can’t believe she did me like this, but she did. She set me up and played me better than I’ve ever played on any damn table in my life and now I’m right here in Sero’s hands. I hope it was worth it, Skriiva. I hope that damned book was worth it—you sold me out after all the damn money I’ve brought your way? I could’ve gone anywhere, but I always came to you because I thought somewhere under there you saw me as more than another Ruins Rat, but no—you set me up. You set me up so that Sero’d give you that damn book that you knew wasn’t even here; you just wanted to make it easy for his goons to pick me up and you did, you definitely did, you definitely did, and if I get the chance, I’ll make a cloak out of you. I promise you. If I get out of here, I will find you, and I’ll wear your hide like a damned trophy for the rest of my days! I mean it, Skriiva! I’m coming for you! As for Sero, this was never supposed to go like this. This has ruined everything; I was supposed to be on my way to New Balmora, but now I’m stuck here like a rat in a cage while that bastard decides what to do with me. He’s debating whether he’s going to kill me or sell me off to the Salt Mines. Damnit! I don’t know what I’m going to do—I need a plan, think Antuul, think. How are you going to get out of this? What are you going to do? What’s the plan, damnit, think! I don’t know. I can’t think straight. My mind’s all wrapped up in those things below the Temple in New Vivec and the goblins and just—all of it. I can’t think straight. I need to sleep, maybe that’ll help me clear my head. I hope so anyways. I really hope so. I just hope he doesn’t end me in my sleep, but knowing Sero, he’s not going to make it so easy for me. No. He’ll want me to be awake. He’ll want to hear my screams as he takes his pound of flesh and many more to follow it. I hope I think of something tomorrow—I really do. -Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger