The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Part 2 Options

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The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl : Part Two
The Dunmer at the next table were discussing the haunting at the Gateway Inn, and complaining that they were being forced to curtail their business in Sadrith Mora since there was nowhere for them to stay. I remembered Prefect Angaredhel saying something about one of the Telvanni representatives looking into the problem. Perhaps I should look into it myself ~ and this Arara Uvulas seemed like a good place to start. I finished up my drink and headed down to the slave-market. Nodding to a couple of very muscular House Telvanni guards, I crossed the bridge towards the Council House. I say “bridge”, actually, it looked more like a root that had been flattened out on top and had coincidentally joined the Council Hall to the side of the cliff. (It would take quite a while before I got used to Telvanni “architecture”).

Inside the cool and dark building, a well-dressed Dunmer woman directed me to the council chamber. Behind the round wooden door was a large, circular chamber. The centre of the chamber was dominated by a massive crystal growth ~ from which a strange bluish-green light and a faint humming noise emanated. Around the outer radius of the chamber were a number of platforms, raised about head-height from the floor. On all but two of these stood well-dressed and aloof-looking Dunmer: the representatives of the Telvanni Council. Actually, it’s a little more complex than that, but I’ll try to clarify the status quo as I go on).

“Yes, I investigated the haunting at the Gateway,” the dark-haired Arara Uvulas said in response to my question. “At first it seemed like a traditional manifestation, even though the Gateway is a relatively new building and has no history of foul murder or dirty deeds. Nor, indeed, is it built on any known burial ground or religious site. I performed the standard exorcism, which seemed to work at the time. However, I’d barely left the chamber when the ghost came back again.

“I’ve tried several rituals and incantations since, but none of them work for more than a moment or two. I am, quite frankly, at a loss to explain why this spirit keeps reappearing and am beginning to suspect that there is some malicious intent behind it. A conjuration expert perhaps? However, I’m interested in why you’re interested.”

I couldn’t really explain why I was interested, and mumbled something about studying the application of magic. That seemed to arouse her interest in me even more, and she asked me to stay right where I was while she conferred with her fellow representatives. I didn’t see the harm in that, and stood there while they all closed their eyes and somehow spoke to each other. Don’t ask me how, because I won’t be telling you. Anyway, after a few moments silent communion, Arara Uvulas turned to me and asked, “Would you be interested in joining Great House Telvanni?”

“Let me tell you the rules of the house,” she went on, seeing that I was having some trouble framing a reply. “Then, perhaps, you’ll be able to make a decision.

“If you steal from another Telvanni, but still live, then clearly you deserve whatever you stole. Murdering your opponents by magic or treachery is the traditional way of settling disputes. If you win, then clearly your argument has more merit. You may be expelled as in any other Great House, but most Telvanni will not care or even know about it. These are the principle rules of Great House Telvanni, do you think you can abide by them?”

“Are there no other rules?” I asked, intrigued. That ‘if you murder your opponent and get away with it, your argument has more merit’ clause probably explained the strange behaviour of the Telvanni in Tel Naga after I fulfilled the bounty on Engaer.

“Power,” Uvulas said. “The acquisition of and exercise of power be it financial, magical, physical, or some other form of power. That’s the only other rule of the House. Now, tell me, can you abide by our rules and do you wish to join Great House Telvanni?”

I was, to be honest, feeling a little numb. I’d always been a loner, both with those that called themselves my parents and in the intervening years. I’d joined the Fighters Guild out of self-interest and, while they’d shown some interest in me, it was purely a professional one. I’d been rewarded for jobs done well and given fresh jobs to do. However, I’d had to ask to join the Guild, they hadn’t asked me. Now here was one of the ruling houses of Morrowind province asking, actually asking, if I was interested in becoming a part of their House. With a lump in my throat, I said that I’d be honoured to be counted a member of Great House Telvanni.

“Then,” Arara Uvulas said, “let me be the first to welcome you Hireling Vahl. May your presence in the House reflect well on all of us. For the moment, you will take your instruction from us, the Mouths of the Councillors. Likewise, we will answer any questions you have and give you instruction in the ways of the House. Now, I have a small task for you.”

“May I ask you a question?” when she indicated that I could, I continued. “I don’t understand. I thought that you were the Telvanni Council, yet you say that you represent the Telvanni Council.”

“Yes Sudhendra,” she explained. “The people we represent, the Masters of Great House Telvanni, rarely meet. Yet it is important that members of the Great House can pass messages to them, or perform duties for them, without having to travel to isolated places. That’s where we come in. we each represent a Master and speak for them in this forum ~ hence the title ‘Mouth’. I represent Master Neloth of Tel Naga. And right now, Master Neloth has need of five portions of Sload Soap. Here are five hundred Septims ~ you may keep any change.”

Taking the money, I walked out of the Council Chamber into the cool, damp, darkness of the outer corridors. “Excuse me,” I asked the Dunmer female nearby, “but do you know where I might be able to get some Sload Soap?”

“Your best bet is Anis Seloth,” the woman said. “She usually has a large supply of the rarer alchemical ingredients.”

“Thank you…” I said.

“Dalyne Arvel, Hireling,” she introduced herself.

“Sudhendra Vahl, Hireling,” I said by way of a reply. She smiled and welcomed me to Great House Telvanni. She then gave me concise directions on how to find Seloth’s shop. I was to find that news spread quickly in Great House Telvanni and, even before I stepped out of the Council Hall, people in Sadrith Mora knew I was part of the Great House. Even the guards, who’d mostly addressed me as “outlander” or (more frequently) “scum” were more kindly disposed to me. One of the burly guards protecting the entrance to the Council Chambers even went so far as to say “Fair day to you Muthsera.”

I found Anis Seloth’s shop easily enough; it was a large mushroom perched on a steep ridge overlooking the slave-market. Anis, herself, was a petite Dunmer who always gave the impression of being rushed off her feet. However, she was well supplied with a variety of potions and ingredients, and she had more than enough Sload Soap to fulfil Arara Uvulas’ requirements: the only matter now was the price. Anis Seloth was more than willing to haggle over the price and I eventually got a good price on the five packets of white, waxy Soap: two hundred and forty-three Septims. This left me a healthy two hundred and fifty-seven Septims profit. Well pleased with myself, I returned to the Council Chamber and handed the packets to Neloth’s Mouth.

After thanking me, she asked if I was willing to undertake another task for her Master. “Master Neloth collects staves,” she said. “And he has heard that someone at the Mages Guild at Wolverine Hall has a staff of the Silver Dawn. He very much wishes to add it to his collection…”

“Say no more,” I interrupted. “It will be my pleasure to fetch the staff for Master Neloth’s collection.” I waited a moment, but it was obvious that no clink was forthcoming. That meant that the lovely profit I’d made would probably be spent on the staff. Remember what I said about the gods and their japes?

I walked over to Wolverine Hall and made my way up to the Mages Guild. As luck would have it, the first person I spoke to was a Mage by the name of Arielle Phiencel, and it was Arielle Phiencel who had the Staff of Silver Dawn in her possession. Unfortunately she wouldn’t accept less than three hundred Drakes for it. Rather begrudgingly I handed over the money and took possession of the staff. It sang with that sweet magical note that all ensorcelled items have (for me, at least) but it certainly didn’t look very prepossessing. The silver was badly tarnished, and there were areas that looked like they’d been scorched with something fairly acidic. Still, a Staff of the Silver Dawn was what was required, and this was one.

As I turned to leave, a thought struck me. “Tell me,” I asked Arielle Phiencel, “who is the best at conjuration here?”

“That would be Uleni Heleran,” the Breton replied. “She teaches a course here at the Guild. Why?” By dint of some careful questioning, I managed to draw out some useful information. Namely that Uleni Heleran has been teleporting in and out of the Guildhall quite frequently of late. I was also told that Heleran had some sort of grudge against ‘someone in town’.

“I know what you’re doing,” I said to Uleni Heleran. At first, she tried to deny it but soon admitted that it was she who was conjuring up the spectre at the Gateway Inn. I persuaded her that it might have been fun to start with, but that the “joke” was wearing thin. She postured a bit longer, claiming that Angaredhel had fined her for not applying for Hospitality Papers when she arrived here. However, she soon relented and gave me a note ~ which she called “ghost-free papers” (a sad joke on Hospitality Papers I suppose) ~ to give to Angaredhel, along with a promise that she would stop her conjurations at the Gateway.

I stopped off at the Gateway Inn on my way back to the Telvanni Council Chambers and spoke to Angaredhel. As I expected, he was bloody furious when he found out that Uleni Heleran was responsible. When he’d calmed down a bit, he fetched out a small tray and showed it to me. “You’ve done well Ser Vahl,” he said. “For stopping that wretch from ruining me, please choose a ring.” There, on the tray, sat three very traditional rings: the burnished bronze and topaz of a Thieves’ Ring; the mottled copper and turquoise of a Fighters’ Ring; and the polished silver and jadeite of a Mages’ Ring. Naturally, I chose the Mages’ Ring.

“This is exactly what Master Neloth is looking for,” Arara Uvulas said as I handed over the staff. “It’s not particularly potent, but its spells are useful in a pinch. Do you know any combat-magic Ser Vahl?” when I admitted that I only knew a few spells, Uvulas took the time to teach me a cantrip designed to blind an enemy. I thanked her profusely, knowing that I’d gained just a little more knowledge. And knowledge, as every Telvanni knows, is power.

“If you feel up to more tasks today Hireling,” a clear voice called across the chamber. “I have a small job for you to undertake.” The speaker was Felisa Ulessen, Mouth to a Mistress Therana. I went over to speak to her.

“I have a skirt here that needs to be delivered to my Mistress at Tel Branora.” Lowering her voice, she added, “My Mistress can be a little… eccentric at times. Please take these scrolls in case you need them.”

Looking at the scrolls of ALMSIVI Intervention, I asked the obvious question, “where is Tel Branora?” Ulessen showed me on my map, adding that a boat was probably the best way to get there. Perhaps, perhaps not, I thought as I looked at the tiny islet far to the south on my map. Taking the skirt, I stood and spoke in a clear, concise voice “Ex hic absum, ut Ald’ruhn.”

To my delight, Delas Mrania had a Void-Walk spell for Tel Branora, which I promptly purchased. Then I had the Guild-Guide service send me to Balmora so I could rest for the night.

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I had seen Pelagiad when I’d first arrived on Vvardenfell and, for some reason, felt the need to see it again. Perhaps it was curiosity that drove me, or a vague sense of homesickness. So it was that I set off along the road towards the Imperial town. For a change, none of the local fauna seemed interested in making me their next meal, the sun was shining out of a cloudless sky, and there was the delicate scent of green and growing things on the breeze. Of all the things I’ve grown accustomed to during my long tenure on this island, the smell is the one thing that I still find the least pleasant. Oh, not that I mind the flinty, ash smell that permeates virtually everything here; no, it’s the smell of growing things I miss.

Still, I digress. I think I probably heard the woman before I caught sight of her ~ her sobbing was audible before she came into sight. Tall, with red hair and exquisite clothing, she looked the very definition of distress as she stood at the side of the road.

“What ails you?” I asked the Bretonian.

“Have you seen a bandit on your travels?” she asked. I shook my head. “Ah, such a shame,” she said, “for I have been robbed.”

“Was much taken?” I asked, adding, “I might be able to recover your jewels and valuables if you can give me a description of the thief.”

“Jewels and valuables?” she said haughtily. “Baubles I can afford to loose. No, what was stolen was much more valuable.”

Thinking she had been robbed of valuable documents, I pressed her for a description. “A Dark Elf, like yourself,” she said. “Tall, with brown hair and a twinkle in his eye. His face was ruggedly handsome and he was tall and proud.” I listened with growing dismay as she spoke, a soft and dreamlike tone in her voice as she described her assailant. “He took a kiss and stole my heart,” she concluded.

I raised an eyebrow at that. She begged me to seek out this bandit and give him a note and a token of her love, one of her exquisite gloves. While I could see no harm in what she asked, personally I thought her insane. To loose your heart to some bandit on the road seemed to me the very height of foolishness. Especially when you had no idea of where this bandit came from, or to whence he had gone, and only the name ‘Nelos Onmar’.

Putting her note and token away, I continued on down the road ~ occasionally shaking my head at such an absurd idea. I was, I’ll admit, tempted to throw note and glove away and forget this task. So engrossed was I with my internal debate that I almost stepped into the woman who stood blocking my way.

“Traveller,” she said, “a boon if you will.” I looked up to see a priestess of Kynareth, clad in the traditional blue robe of that order. “Please can you bring the Guard from Pelagiad? Some ruffians have taken over the shrine and I cannot deal with them. And I fear my sister’s life ~ she is still inside.”

“Why would anyone attack a shrine?” I asked.

“Two very important religious icons are on display,” she explained. “If they are stolen, it will be a disaster.”

“Perhaps I can help?” I said. “If I’m careful, I might be able to free your sister at the very least. It would be quicker than bringing the guards here.”

“Why would you help Dark Elf?” she asked. “This is an Imperial matter.”

Although it amused me that Ariene mistook me for a native, her words also stung. Rather brusquely I explained that I was an Imperial citizen, recently arrived from the mainland and that, while not a devotee of Kynareth, I worshipped at the shrine of Stendarr. I will admit, however, that I neglected to mention that it had been a good number of years since I’d last stood before the altar and made my devotions. She seemed to reach a decision and gave me the key to the shrine.

As I slipped the massive brass key into the equally massive lock, I wondered what madness had come over me. What had started as a simple walk in the countryside had become a matter of arranging a tryst between a love-struck Breton and a Dunmer bandit who probably didn’t even remember her; and of recovering (or attempting to recover) two sacred artefacts from a besieged shrine. Once again I was prompted to wonder ‘why me?’

The cool blues of the shrine reflected the light from a very ornately decorated panel that greeted the visitor on entering. Above me, a balcony jutted out from the wall, to my right a small set of stairs descended to a dark wooden door, directly in front of me was the sacristy ~ the place where the prayers were said. Although there was nobody about, I could hear the faint scrape of metal on stone.

The levitation amulet allowed me to reach the balcony, since there seemed to be no other method of getting there. The door, which was the only feature of the area, yielded easily to my touch and I stepped into a small chamber. Three things immediately struck my attention and made me draw my axe. The first was the ebony sphere that was displayed on a lavish golden stand. The glass cover that had protected it lay in shards on the top of the simple stone plinth. The second thing was the woman, clad in black armour, reaching for the sphere. The final thing was the look of pure venom she gave me when I entered. With no word or challenge, she drew a strangely wrought blade and advanced on me purposefully.

She was skilled, I’ll give her that and, not so long ago she would have proved too formidable an opponent for me. However, I’d grown in stature and power since I’d arrived and the Dwemer axe ~ which I’d named ‘Bara Ddeisyf’, or ‘The Last Wish’ ~ was a far more deadly weapon than her simple blade. Heavy gilded Dwemeri metal crashed against her black armour as I sidestepped the thrust, the keen edge of the weapon tearing the iron like cloth.

“Crn spas osim ako mene,” she spat in a language unknown to me as the spells woven into the axe bit home. The ragged edges of the cut I’d made in the armour glowed a dull red as the fire-based enchantment ripped at the flesh underneath. Giving her no chance to recover, I stepped in and swung again and again ~ successive flares of heat blooming at each strike. Warily, I stepped back and hefted the Wish, waiting to see what the stricken woman would do next.

According to the lays sung by the bards, she should have lain down her sword and sued for mercy. If you’ve been adventuring yourself, you’ll know it’s surprising how infrequently things like that happen. With a loud cry, she hurled herself at me with the sword held high overhead. The vindictive blow struck the upraised shaft of my axe and stopped it cold: even as the sound of metal on metal was reverberating around the chamber, I brought down the axe ~ burying the curved blade in the top of her head.

Coolly working the Wish from its resting place, I stepped back and used a handy tapestry to clean the worst of the gore from the blade. Then I turned my attention to the ebon sphere that had been singing to me since I stepped into the room. I was wary about touching it since it was obviously a source of great power but I dare not leave it here in case there were others who would steal it while I searched for the other artefact. Reaching down, I picked the surprisingly heavy object up. There was a strange roaring sound in my ears and I felt a familiar tugging sensation.

I’d had a vision of a similarly sized ivory sphere in a chamber with intricately worked iron doors. Further more, I knew exactly where this chamber lay in relation to my current position. I can, sometimes, sense the presence of enchanted items ~ it’s an ability over which I have no control and is part of my skill at identifying magical items. Never, in all my life, had I felt it so strongly: it was as if a golden thread glimmered before me and showed the way to the second relic. So overpowering was this knowledge that I had little option other than to follow the thread to its end.

Beneath the shrine lay a small complex of rooms. These housed supplies for the shrine and the living quarters of the priestess and her sister. They also currently housed two armoured guards who were somewhat aggressively unhappy at my presence. However, a fey mood had come over me since I’d grasped the ebony sphere and I moved between them as they were acting in slow motion. The construct for the spell ‘Boiling Blood’ rose up in my mind, tier after tier of convoluted Arcana: their sluggish movements guaranteed their rapid demise.