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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Today did not get off to the most auspicious of starts; it took me three attempts to cast the recall spell that would return me to the Telvanni Council Chambers. I hoped that the day would get better ~ something of a vain hope as it turned out.

“Ahh, Ser Vahl,” said Mouth Omayn, “We need you to go and bring us five portions of Muck as soon as you can. When you get back, we’ll have another small chore for you.”

Obtaining the Muck was as simple as walking around to Anis Seloth’s shop and purchasing five waxed-packets of the stuff. I was charged the princely sum of four Septims. “Excellent,” Raven Omayn said when I handed her the packages, “now we can make up some potions.” With a sigh, she added, “Life would be so much easier if everyone would learn a simple cure common disease spell.”

I politely pointed out that I didn’t know how to cast such a spell. The Mouth looked at me in a long-suffering manner and then proceeded to teach me one. The school of restoration has never been one of my strong points, but the spell seemed so useful that I resolved to practice casting it at every opportunity until I could do so easily.

“Now we have a slightly more difficult task for you,” she said as she straightened up. “We need you to find a ring known as The Black Jinx. We know that this ring is here in Sadrith Mora, but we don’t know where. We are aware that you have contacts that are not available to us and hope you can locate and retrieve the ring. Please keep us informed.”

Talking to Raven Omayn was a strain, her Mistress tended to dominate Omayn’s mind and the two spoke as though they were one person. Still, as my foster-father would have commented, it’s an inside job with no heavy lifting. Which tells you as much about that worthy individual as you’ll ever need to know. I went around the slave-market, asking about the Black Jinx, but nobody could tell me much about it. After about an hour of this, I suddenly stopped and thought about what had been said to me. Sudhendra, sometimes you’re such a fool.

I hit pay dirt almost immediately. A rogue sorcerer out of the Illiac Bay said he’d give me the information he had for the price of a drink. After I’d brought him a jug of Matze from Muriel, he told me what I needed to know. “The Black Jinx is, as you have been so correctly informed, right here in Sadrith Mora. Further more, I can tell you it’s in the possession of one Alven Salas.”

“Oh, one more thing,” he said after I’d thanked him and turned to go. “This Salas? He’s an assassin with the Morag Tong. I believe you’ll find their Guildhall at the north of the town. Good luck.”

Oh marvellous, I reflected as I stood outside Dirty Muriel’s. I’ve been here what, a little over two weeks? Now I’m expected to go up against someone who makes his living killing people like me. Did I anger the Gods in some way? Am I being punished for transgressions in a former life? Or did stuff like this happen to other people?

It was with my heart in my mouth that I walked to the northern end of Sadrith Mora. There stood a building: it looked no different from its neighbours. Until you realised it had no neighbours. This, then, was the Morag Tong Guildhall ~ and the prize I sought was inside.

“So you want the Black Jinx eh?” Alven Salas sneered. “I’ll tell you what, you beat me in a fair fight and you can have the ring. If I beat you, you can’t. Simple enough for you?” I was faced with little choice ~ if I wanted to get the ring for Dratha I’d have to fight this assassin. And I was pretty sure that not getting the ring would severely hamper any chance of future promotion within the House. Besides, this arrogant prig needed to be taught a lesson. I nodded.

Alven Salas laughed, his hand snaking out and slapping my face with scary speed. “Oh,” he said, “a little pointer. I’m going to beat you until you beg me to stop. The only way you can beat me is to kill me.” I managed, barely, to deflect his next blow. I drew my sword ~ an axe being next to useless in this enclosed space ~ and slashed at him. He laughed nastily and danced easily out of the way. “Have to do better than that,” he taunted.

There followed one of the most humiliating experiences I’ve ever had to undergo. Try as hard as I would, I couldn’t connect with the Dunmer in front of me: yet he seemed to be able to reach through my defences at will and pummel me repeatedly. A blow to the head knocked me off balance, and the follow up punch, to the stomach, winded me. Again, and again he brushed past my blade to strike me. I could feel my rage building ~ this was what I’d had to suffer back in Hammerfell from my foster-father. To stand there while he taunted and slapped me for whatever transgression ~ real or imagined ~ took his fancy.

With a snarl, I dropped the sword. “Giving up already?” sneered the assassin, slapping my face again. “We’ll dance until I say we’re done, and then we’ll…”

His taunts died in his throat as I looked up at him from under my fringe of white hair. I was livid with anger, all the old frustrations boiling back to the surface. But this wasn’t a burning anger, a hot rush of rage: no, this was something colder and far deadlier. “You want to dance Salas?” I said in a monotone. “Then let’s dance.”

He lashed out again, but this time it was I who connected ~ my nails raking four bloody lines down his left cheek. His foot clipped my shoulder as he lashed out with a furious kick, only to go crashing down to the floor as I swept his other leg from under him. I managed to get in two vicious kicks before he rolled away and scrambled to his feet. Rather more warily now, he circled around me before unleashing a fusillade of punches. Stoically I absorbed them, grunting at the impact ~ and then I opened up his right eyebrow with my thumbnail. I admit, it wasn’t intentional, what I’d actually been trying to do was take out his eye.

A small steel dagger appeared in his hand with a suddenness that was magical. He lunged forward and I spun out of the way and smashed the dish I swept up off the table across the back of his head. He staggered and I was on him in a heartbeat. I clung onto his back, my arm cinched tightly around his throat as we crashed to the floor. With a wordless snarl I twisted my grip. There was a sudden, sharp crack and Alven Salas went limp. Rolling off him, I curled up and wept. I wept for Salas, for myself, for anyone who found them self in a similar situation, for all those who had to suffer and who couldn’t retaliate against their tormentors. But, I think, I mostly wept for myself.

The person who stood up wasn’t the same person who’d entered the assassins’ Guildhall. Despite my wandering and my roguish lifestyle, I had entered the building as a naïf, what would step out was colder, harder, and deadlier. Before I would defend myself if necessary, although running was always an option I preferred. Now I’d have no truck with such behaviour ~ whatever life, or this inimical island threw at me I would meet it head on, subdue it, turn it to my advantage or kill it if necessary. I was through being pushed from pillar to post: now it would be me who did the pushing.