The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: City of Light, City of Magic Options

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The tower was deeply subdued this morning, people moving around on tiptoe as Kallin spoke to me while I broke my fast. “The assassin came in from the southeast,” she briefed me, adding bitterly, “we found a dead guard. He’d been dragged over the hill out of sight. We also found this, outside.”

She handed me a small silver and glass phial. There were only a few dregs of the potion it had contained left in the bottom, but the thick smell rising from the flask was enough to tell us both what it had contained. “Having levitated to your balcony, he used a pick to unlock the door, greasing the hinges so they’d make no noise. How do you intend to respond, Arch-Magister?”

“By tearing a few strips off Master Neloth’s hide,” I replied. “I want to see how much of that ample paunch I can remove before he dies of blood loss or shock. Yes Raissu,” I said, turning my head to address the fidgeting estate manager, “you have something to add?”

“It may be prudent to stay your wrath until you’ve spoken with Neloth’s Mouth,” she suggested. I indicated that she should explain. “I have little knowledge of the Guild of Assassins,” she continued, “nobody does. And those that do have knowledge keep very, very quiet. However, if Neloth had targeted you for assassination, wouldn’t they have had to issue a Black Writ?”

“Which we would have known about,” an exasperated Kallin said, dropping her head so her forehead banged on the table. “Raissu is right, Arch-Magister. The Morag Tong may be a bunch of murderous cut-throats, but they do stick to their rules.”

Kallin then explained to me what she knew of the workings of the Dunmeri assassins. How a Black Writ has to be issued for the ‘execution’ of a target and how the target is made aware of the existence of the Writ. It seemed an odd system to me but it had been that way, apparently, for hundreds of years.

“Everyone out,” I commanded as I stalked into the Telvanni Council Hall in Sadrith Mora. “Not you Arara Uvulas,” I added as the Mouths started to leave. When she and I were the only ones left in the chamber, I spoke, “Last night there was an attempt on my life. Neloth has declared that he considers himself to be my enemy. Give me a good reason I shouldn’t end his life right now.”

Arara looked stricken, glancing about as though in search of aid. Finally, she swallowed and said, “My Master has not been in contact with me for days. In fact Sed, he hasn’t been out of Tel Naga since you became Arch-Magister. He… regrets certain comments he made to you and wishes he had not been so… hasty. I believe he fears that he may have made… an error of judgement.”

I snorted back laughter. Ignoring it, Arara continued, “As for arranging an assassination attempt? It is not something Neloth would do, for fear of precisely this situation.”

“In other words,” I said, “he’s a bully and a coward. Afraid that he’s made a mortal enemy of the Head of House.”

Arara hesitated, then gave a quick nod of the head ~ about as much confirmation that my words were true as I was likely to get from her. “Then if not Neloth,” I mused out loud, “who sent that assassin to my stronghold? Unlikely to be House Redoran, if they wanted me dead they’d do it themselves. House Hlaalu? They could certainly afford to equip an assassin in the armour…”

“Armour, Arch-Magister?” Arara interrupted my thoughts. “What sort of armour?”

“Black,” I replied. “Light-weight, high-quality black armour.”

“Then it was not the Morag Tong,” she said flatly. “Their assassins eschew armour, preferring simple robes. And if it was not the Morag Tong that tried to kill you, then it was not one of the Dunmeri factions that arranged it. Let me call one of the House Guards, they may be able to shed some light on the matter.”

The nervous looking guard listened to my tale and spoke quickly when I’d finished. “Sounds like the Dark Brotherhood, Sed Vahl. If you have been targeted for assassination by them…” he let his comment trail off. I wondered where I could find this Brotherhood. “I don’t know,” he replied in response to my question, “but there is a new arrival in Ebonheart who may be able to assist you. An Imperial by the name of Apelles Matius.”

Delas Mrania was only too happy to sell me a spell to get me to Ebonheart when I spoke to her and, after learning it; I took myself from Ald’ruhn to the Imperial blandness of Ebonheart’s Fort.

“You’ll forgive me if I am sceptical Dark Elf,” Apelles Matius said, giving me a condescending smile when I’d told him my tale. “If you were truly marked for death by the Dark Brotherhood, we would not be having this conversation.”

“I am not accustomed to being called a liar Matius,” I snapped. “You’d do well to remember your manners. Now, speak to me of the Dark Brotherhood.”

“Well,” he said, quite taken aback. “If you’re telling the truth… which I have no doubt you are,” he added hastily as I smiled blandly at him and dropped my hand to the hilt of my sword, “then you need to travel to Mournhold. That is the only bastion of the Dark Brotherhood in this Province that I am aware of.

“The problem is, Vvardenfell is under quarantine because of the Blight. However, if you speak to Asciene Rane in the Council Hall, I’m sure she would be able to transport you there.”

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Asciene Rane turned out to be far more sympathetic than Apelles Matius. She listened to my story and then said, “Oh dear, I understand why you’d want to catch these people. But the Dark Brotherhood: very, very dangerous. I certainly wouldn’t want to tangle with them.

“Now,” she continued, after giving a little shudder, “I will certainly send you to Mournhold but there are things you should know. Almalexia doesn’t allow levitation inside the citadel’s limits, nor does she allow people inside Mournhold to travel outside the citadel, so you won’t be able to make any side trips to the main part of the city. And, because of the quarantine, you’ll have to speak to Effe-Tei in the Royal Palace to return to Vvardenfell and speak to me if you wish to go back. No Recall or translocation spells are allowed.”

I stood there; watching as the woman wove the spell, sparkles of light following her moving finger as she worked. With a suddenness that was shocking, everything went black for a moment, and then I found myself standing in a small room. In front of me stood an Argonian, clad in robes of a higher quality than any I’d seen on the island. I was more interested, for the moment, in my surroundings.

The floor was of some dark stone, grey in colour and flecked with black grains. The same stone formed the walls. Bands of dark green and gold decorated these walls, and the curved and elaborate ceiling was constructed of tiles, glazed the same green and bearing fine designs in gilt enamel. Richly decorated tapestries and rugs adorned the walls and floor and, in one corner, stood a tub in which grew a profusion of plants and flowers quite unknown to me. However, despite the greenery and the rich decorations, there was a gloom to the room that was unsettling.

“Help traveller. Effe-Tei. How?” the Argonian said as I approached it. I explained my problem and, after making a thin hissing sound, it said, “Guard. Royal. Problem should be addressed. Information, possible, that source.”

After clarifying that the Argonian Effe-Tei was suggesting that I speak to one of the Royal Guards, I looked around and saw a tall, armoured figure watching me. The armour was, like so many things I was to see here, of much better quality than any I’d seen before. The colour, the unsettling colour of dried blood, made me nervous as did the fact that the full helm made it impossible for me to see the wearer’s eyes. Still, this was the Royal Palace so the odds were good that the figure was a Royal Guard.

The guard was every bit as unfriendly as I’d feared and proved reluctant to speak to me. However, I turned on the charm and, before long, he grudgingly parted with information. “I’ve heard a rumour that the Dark Brotherhood have a base down in the old sewers beneath the Bazaar. You might want to try there.”

“Do you know where in the sewers?” I asked.

“Do I look like someone who’d go down into the sewers traveller?” he snapped. With that, he turned and stalked off. Very smooth Sudhendra, I thought to myself, very smooth.

A tall, well-dressed Cyrodiil in the courtyard of the Palace turned out to be very much more helpful. “I can’t help you with that my dear,” he said, “but I can direct you to the Bazaar and the sewers.” Which he promptly proceeded to do.

I left the Palace through the gate the Man had indicated and stopped dead in my tracks. He’d spoke in an off-hand way about the ‘Plaza Brindisi-Dorum’ when giving me directions: what he’d neglected to mention was the breath-taking beauty of the wide area I found myself in. Huge swathes of grass covered the area around the outside edge of the circular plaza and a profusion of trees and cultivated plants dotted the greenery. Many were of types I’d never seen before. Broad, well-maintained paths of smooth dark stone led through this park area to a gargantuan central pool. Carefully times plumes of water shot up from the water, creating a dancing effect as they went around the central statue in sequence. The statue, of an armoured woman battling Mehrunes Dagon, consisted of more fine white marble in one place than I’d ever seen.

As I followed the path towards the pool, I saw that the central statue was not the plaza’s only decoration. Off to my left there was a tall, slender spire of a pastel-hued green stone ~ hundreds of feet tall. Blinking at the magnificence of the surroundings, I drew close to the central pool. “Mournhold: City of Magic, City of Light,” one of the Royal Guards intoned as I went past. I had the feeling that this was some sort of greeting and I inclined my head politely.

Now here was an interesting thing: on the side of the statue where I was standing were three Royal Guards. On the other side were three other guards; these dressed in silvery armour that bore the ‘Moon and Star’ design of House Indoril. And, although all six guards were patrolling the area, neither set of guards crossed over into the area patrolled by the other. Filing this away for future reference, I followed the path and came, eventually, to the large wooden gate in the high walls that surrounded Plaza Brindisi Dorum. Passing through, I entered the Great Bazaar.

The Great Bazaar of Mournhold! After passing through the gate, I found myself on an elevated walkway above the Bazaar. Which was slightly bigger than a village back on the island. Throngs of people passed by below, chattering and laughing as vendors by the hundred called out to them to come and look at their wares. Nor were these booths and barrows the only retailers available: large stone buildings, their roofs only just reaching the level of the walkway, lined the side of the Bazaar. As I followed the walkway, more of the Great Bazaar was revealed. There, below, was what appeared to be a stage ~ complete with scenery and props.

The huge sweep of stone stairs that led down into the Bazaar beckoned and, sewers for the moment forgotten, I walked down them and joined the crowds below. The merchandise was plentiful and some of it, at least, quite affordable. My walk through the crowd was profitable, for I overheard many snippets of information. Like the conversation between the two women discussing the wizard that had been seen around Mournhold, showing off his powers. Or the information that a clock-maker had set up in a place called Godsreach.

Some time later, I emerged from the throng at the opposite side of the Great Bazaar and climbed the stairs that led back up to the walkway. Here, a deep, water-filed channel ran along the base of the high wall, entering from a huge metal grate and exiting through a similar grate at the far end of its course. Beside this, flush to the ground, was the trapdoor down into the sewers that I was seeking.

I expected someone to shout to tell me to stop as I lifted the heavy flap and manoeuvred around so I could set my feet on the uppermost rung of the ladder that led down into the darkness. But, even though several people saw me, nobody seemed to mind. With a mental shrug, I started down the ladder, leaving the trapdoor open to provide a little light for my descent.

Sewers, have I mentioned recently just how much I hate them? Dark, usually smelly, always dank ~ and these, despite their vast size, were little different than the sewers beneath Saint Delyn or Vehk’s palace. The spluttering torches set at regular intervals assured me that I was not going to run into a pocket of something lethal but did little to light these wide tunnels. And the rats, and worse, were pretty thick down here too. Not having much idea which way to go, I fetched a stub of chalk from my pack and, drawing an arrow heading into the gloom, I set off.

Many chalk-drawn arrows later, I came to a spot where the sewer-wall had collapsed. A tunnel, roughly hewn from the grey rock, led away from the spot. Drawing a final arrow, I headed down the tunnel to see what I could find.

Assassins: that’s what I found. I’d passed through several chambers hewn in the rock ~ spots where masonry from some older city thrust through the stone, or where finely tiled and mosaic-tiled floors showed through the dirt and gravel underfoot. In several places, there were intricately designed, slender pillars that rose from the rock bed and vanished into the rock of the roof of the tunnel. As I ventured further, I found more and more evidence of this buried city beneath the new. As I waded through a stretch of flooded tunnel there was an articulate shout from just ahead.

Cloak floating behind him, a black-armoured figure ran at me ~ light from the luminous moss glinting of the blade of a steel dagger. Either the fact he was a novice, or his overconfidence, caused his defeat. Of course, the fact that I was wielding an Ebony broadsword compared to his tiny little dagger might have played a part in it too. He lunged inward with the dagger, I slapped his arm away with the flat of the blade ~ his dagger splashing into the water as he lost his grip on it ~ and then reversed the direction of the cut and tore a huge rent in his armour.

He staggered backwards, his feet shooting from underneath him as he fell in the water with a huge splash. Before he could recover, I was standing astride him with the point of the sword pressed against his throat. “You and I,” I informed him, “are going to have words.

“Who sent you after a Dunmer named Sudhendra Vahl?” I asked, pressing down with the blade just enough to draw the faintest trickle of blood.

“Go to Oblivion scum,” he spat. Before I could respond, he arched his back and drove his throat up onto the sword. I cursed, leaping backwards as a spray of blood jetted upwards. Shaken, I stood there looking at his lifeless body, trying to process what had just happened. The assassin had taken his own life rather than talk to me and I was at a loss.

My plan had been to blast in here and acquire the information that would set me on the right path to who ever was behind the attempt on my life. I’d been willing to be as rough and ruthless as necessary to gain that information but had intended to spare the lives of those who told me what I needed. It was the person behind the Dark Brotherhood I wanted ~ with him I intended to be less than merciful. Okay, maybe not the greatest plan in the Grey Maybe, but it had seemed sensible enough. Now I needed a rethink.

As I crouched atop the rock, keeping out of the bloodied waters while I thought, something occurred to me. In these dark passages, one black-armoured figure would look very much like another. Provided they didn’t have any watchwords, I might, just might, be able to infiltrate the tunnels without further bloodshed. Removing the armour from the limp and lifeless Mer was no easy task, cleaning it of bloody water even less so. But, about half-an-hour after the idea had occurred to me, I stood in the tunnels clad in Dark Brotherhood armour.

The armour was about a size and a half too big for me but I hoped that the dim tunnels would disguise the worst of it. It was a wrench leaving my pack behind, but the small pouches around the armour took what I considered to be essential supplies and I made sure my pack was well hidden against chance discovery. I could do nothing about the rent in the front of the armour other than push the edges closed and wear something dark underneath. If I could find an assassin alone, I was resolved to replace the cuirass as quickly as possible. I got my chance much quicker than I would have liked.

“What are you doing away from your post Gadali?” the slender assassin asked as I rounded the bend in the tunnel. As gruffly as I could, I coughed and made a drinking motion. “Be quick about it then, otherwise…Urk!”

The crossbow bolt jutting from his eyeball cut short his warning, and his life. I grinned, dragging the body into a shallow recess and setting to work stripping it of armour. The Dunmer was much closer in size to me than the first fellow had been. As a bonus, his armour was not squelching wet and didn’t have a huge gash in the front. Clad in undamaged armour that was a much closer fit, although I couldn’t do anything about the helm since the smaller one was irreparably damaged, I reloaded the crossbow I’d taken from Berengeval’s corpse. Even though I only had a few bolts, in these corridors its power and effectiveness might prove a deciding factor.

My disguise proved to be marginally effective ~ it allowed me to wander past several of the patrolling assassins without comment. Always heading towards where the assassins were coming from, I quickly found myself at the end of the tunnel. Which opened into a huge cavern ~ along the bottom of which were several large buildings. Trying very hard to look as though I belonged there, I descended the ramps and headed towards the nearest building. The sign above the door identified it as Moril Manor and, feeling much emboldened by my success so far, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. That, of course, was when my luck ran out.

“Word of the Day?” the hulking black-clad assassin who stood just inside the door demanded.

“Bugger,” I suggested ~ not that I hoped that was the password, it was just a heartfelt response. He lifted himself up of his stool ~ by the Divines, I’d thought the behemoth was already standing.

“INTRUDER!” he yelled at the very top of his voice. Then, in a much smaller and higher voice, he screamed, “Arggggh!” Well, it had been such an enticing target, at just the right height, and I did have a loaded crossbow. Leaving the monster curled up in a little ball clutching his… essentials, I drew the Last Wish from beneath the cape as three more of the Brotherhood skidded into view.

Three crossbow bolts zipped through the air, one smashing itself against the table, one clanging of the oversized helm and the other neatly pinning my leg in almost poetic justice. Dropping their bows, the trio drew weapons and started towards me. In shock and a great deal of pain, a spell rose unbidden to my mind. I coughed, gagging on fricatives and alien syllables as I spoke harsh words I couldn’t possibly know.

“[b]Forn blao kula,” I spat out. The table beside me creaked alarmingly, and then collapsed in a shower of yellow light. Bits of metal twisted impossibly as thunderous chimes rang in my head. When my vision cleared, a Blade-Sphere Type II animalcule was already hammering seven shades out of one of the assassins while the others struck at it with their dagger and short sword. Grabbing the Wish from where it had fallen, I limped towards the fray and added my own skills to the mix.

A cleaving blow tore open one of the assassins’ armour down the back, alerting the three of them that I was there. Not that one of them was in much condition to do much about it ~ the gleaming metal spike extruded from the ‘arm’ of the animalcule was driven deep into his stomach and the device was making a determined effort to turn his head into mulch with its shield. Making a pretty decent job of it too.

I meanwhile, was battling valiantly despite my injury ~ fending off the two assassins’ shorter weapons with the axe and desperately trying to inflict injury. I was ably assisted in that by the animalcule, which, having decided there was no more fun to be had with the bleeding limp wreck it was currently toying with, turned and neatly skewered one of the remaining assassins from behind. While he was coming to terms with the sudden existence of several feet of Dwemer metal occupying some of the same space he was in, I quickly despatched the remaining assassin.

Some quick surgery with one of their daggers removed the bolt from my leg: with that done I could take a healing draught, or two. When I’d stopped bleeding and wincing in pain every time I put weight on my leg, I examined my surroundings more closely. Not that I was paying too much attention; I was more concerned about what I had wrought from the table. And about where those strange syllables had come from. All I could think of was that strange experience I’d had in Galom Daeus. And the thought that some millennia dead Dwemer ‘Mage’ could plant a spell in my mind, moreover a spell I couldn’t now seem to access, scared the spit right out of my mouth.

I had several more run ins with assassins as I explored Moril Manor, but I had learned my lesson. I was now fully stocked with bolts for my crossbow courtesy of the assassins and carried two ~ fully loaded and ready to go. I’d ditched the helm but kept the armour: it was light enough not to be a hindrance and its sombre colours might provide a slight advantage in these gloomy halls. Bare-foot, I padded down the halls as silent as one of the assassins I sought.

Where possible, I struck from a distance using the bows, finding these to be far easier to aim than a traditional longbow, as well as far more powerful and accurate. I found that one bolt was generally sufficient to take down an assassin: two was more than enough. Then, melting back into the shadows, I continued the silent but deadly game of stalking and killing. Where there was more than the one member of the Brotherhood, I would take one out with the bows and use magic, silent Telvanni-style casting, to deal with the others.

It was the last door that I opened that almost proved my undoing. Instead of the wide, gloomy corridors I expected to find I found instead a small ‘L’-shaped chamber. Standing in the middle, looking at the door in shock was a white-haired Mer.

“Vahl,” he breathed, taking a step back. With a quick gesture, he summoned a heavy-looking bow from thin air and quickly notched an arrow. I had had enough holes poked in my hide for one day and wasn’t looking for more. With a blood-curdling yell, I fired my crossbow at him, following up the speeding bolt with the crossbow itself. Even as it left my hand, I was grabbing for the Last Wish and running at him.

He was quick, I’ll give him that ~ he’d unleashed the arrow and was drawing a vicious looking curved glass blade even as the cry was leaving my mouth. The arrow passed close enough to part my hair and then our weapons locked together. He was far stronger than me, and his extra height gave him added leverage. But I was Telvanni, and I didn’t rely on blade and raw muscle. Allowing myself to collapse backwards, dragging him with me, I grabbed his wrist and hissed, “igneus manus.”

He screamed as the fire bit into his wrist, the skin blackening and crisping. Dropping his weapon, he rolled away from me and lashed out with his foot. The kick took me high on the shoulder, spinning me around. As I struggled to gain my feet, he was already part way up. My hand fell onto the Wish and, grabbing it, I threw it as hard as I could.

When I regained my feet, the Mer was sitting on a wooden bench, the colour draining from his face as he looked at the blade protruding from his stomach. I clearly heard him say, “I have failed my liege,” before he clapped his hand to his mouth. I was rushing towards him even as I heard the crunch of something small and fragile between his teeth.

Much, much too late. Even though no more than ten quick paces separated us, he was dead before I’d covered half the distance. I yanked the axe from the corpse, kicking the body in frustration so it toppled off the bench and landed untidily on the rough floor. Now I would never find out who had hired these killers. And that meant that I’d be unable to persuade him not to hire more.

More out of habit than anything, I searched the body. And I found a rolled-up piece of parchment. There, written in a bold hand was the following message:

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The Bearer of this document, under special dispensation of the Night Mother, who has entered in a contract in perpetuity with H, is given special dispensation to execute Sudhendra Vahl, a Dark Elf recently residing on the island of Vvardenfell. In accordance with all laws and traditions, the afore-mentioned personage will be executed in the name of H in the most expedient manner possible. All services of the Dark Brotherhood are at the disposal of the Bearer of this binding and non-disputable document

Attached to the bottom of the parchment was a rather good charcoal drawing of me. That was worrying ~ somebody had been close enough to sketch me. Also worrying was the fact that the Dark Brother that I’d killed had obviously been preparing to come after me. Still, at least I now knew that ‘H’ was the mysterious person who wanted me dead. Now all I had to do was scour the world until I found everyone whose name began with that letter and ask him or her if they’d arranged to have me killed.

With a weary sigh, I dragged the dead body out of the chamber and warded the door. It was warm, relatively safe, and I was dead to the world in seconds.