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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The slow dripping of water woke me this morning; from somewhere sewer water was trickling into the little cell I’d used overnight. Packing up was a quick business; I had very few possessions with me. The only things I took with me from that chamber which were not mine were the short glass-blade and the Writ with my name on it. My aim for today was to find a way back to the surface that didn’t involve too many one-on-one fights with assassins. I was not in the mood for much sneaking around.

After collecting my pack from its hiding place, I set off down the tunnels. The crossbows proved their worth again, allowing me to pick off the three would-be assassins that I encountered from a safe distance. But I had a different problem ~ somewhere along the way I’d taken a wrong turning. I didn’t recognise these tunnels at all.

I found what appeared to be a tunnel back into the sewers but it quickly became apparent that the way ahead was blocked. The tunnel was flooded and, when I dived down and swam through to the door to the sewers it was immovable. As I gasped a breath of air in the small air pocket above the doors, I caught a metallic glint under water. Diving down, I grabbed the object as I went passed and rose; spluttering and coughing, back in the tunnels clutching my prize.

And what a prize it was too. It was a helm, made of the same light metal as the dagger that Hrundi had given me. Adamantium that was what he’d called it. The helm was light but solid, with a round neck-protection at the back and a fixed visor that protected the eyes in battle. The thick padding inside was soaked through, but dried quite quickly. It proved to be surprisingly comfortable and, once I’d got used to the slightly restricted vision, very useful.

Deciding to press on in the direction I’d been heading originally (in the vague hope that I’d make my way back to something I recognised), I headed off. The huge, echoing cavern that I reached at the end of the tunnel was enough to convince me that I should turn back. But, before I did that, I would spend a little time exploring. That decision provided me with a puzzle that I’ve yet to solve. Deep under the water, below an overhanging ledge, I found the water-washed bones of a young Mer. Glancing upwards, I saw something fluttering on the edge of the ledge and, speaking the necessary words, I levitated up there.

I found several interesting things that only added to the puzzling presence of the bones below. There was a richly embroidered shirt, a perfect match to the remains of the clothing the skeleton was wearing; a small pile of golden coins, a pair of Adamantium boots, a pair of Adamantium bracers, and a hastily scribbled note. The note, addressed to someone called Shara, simply said:

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My dearest love,

I have failed you. But how? I brought you sacks of Comberry, crates of fine clothes, and chests of gold. But still you spurn my affections. I killed the trader who robbed you and still you refuse me. I have sat by your house day after day, rain or sun, waiting for a hint of your affection, but to no avail. I grow weary of this life. Since you have not yet arrived here to meet me, I can only assume the worst - that I will never feel your soft arms around me or watch you sleep without having to fear the guards that now patrol your land.

Goodbye my darling. Think of me fondly and often. And without reaching for your knife.

So, there was the puzzle: were the bleached and scattered bones the body of the nameless Mer who’d scribed the note? Or were they the bones of this feckless Shara? Had some jealous lover killed the writer, or had he killed Shara in a fit of rage and fled in remorse? Over the centuries I’ve made various enquiries but have, to date, found out nothing that I didn’t learn that day. Oblivion, I don’t even know when the note was written.

Backtracking, I returned to the junction where I thought I’d taken the wrong turning. From there, I headed off in the opposite direction and quickly found, to my joy, a set of doors back into the sewers. The only problem was, they were not the section of the Bazaar sewers through which I’d entered the complex of tunnels and caves. With a sigh, I took my last piece of chalk from the pack and started to mark out my route. I had to climb some quite steep slopes and wade though several deep pools before I came to the uppermost levels of the sewers ~ the manor district must have been far more deeply buried than I’d thought.

It was in these tunnels that I met the distraught Dunmer woman. I was walking along, relaxed but alert, when I espied movement ahead. Gripping the glass short-blade, I advanced carefully. As I drew closer to the corner I’d seen the woman head around, I began to discern the soft sound of weeping. With soft feet, I walked around the corner and looked down the tunnel. I must have made some slight sound, for the Meric woman looked around in sheer terror and bolted.

“Halt, Halt!” I yelled, “I mean you no harm. In fact, I seek your help ~ how do I get out of these benighted sewers?”

My question brought the woman to a standstill and she eyed me nervously as I walked briskly towards her. Narisa Adus, for that was her name, gave me the information I sought. “You are quite close to the exit Muthsera,” she said. “If you go along here, you’ll come to a chamber with four exits. One is blocked, and two go up to the catchments systems under the Temple. You don’t want to go that way. Take the fourth exit and follow it, some three hundred paces along you’ll come to a ladder that will bring you up into the Bazaar catchments system. From there, simply follow your nose.”

“Thank you,” I said with relief. “I thought I was completely lost. But tell me, why should I avoid the Temple sewers?”

“The Black Dart Gang,” she said, as thought that should answer my question completely. Seeing my puzzled look, she explained. “They are a gang of bandits who dress like poor beggars. But they use deadly poisonous darts ~ one is enough to kill you. They… they… they killed my poor Variner.” With that, she broke down in tears.

Bit by patient bit, I dragged the story from Narisa. It seems that they used the sewers to meet but, during one of these trysts, they had run foul of this Black Dart Gang. Narisa had managed to escape, but a thrown dart had killed her lover. Now she claimed that the ghost of Variner was visiting her of a night, begging her to rescue him. She tries, her presence here in the sewers her latest attempt, but she is too afraid to go too deep or too far. She begged me to seek out her lover’s spirit and see if it had a message for her.

I wouldn’t commit myself to wandering these dank halls in search of Variner’s ghost but I did promise that, should I ever meet that specific shade, I would speak with it. It was wrong of me to so promise, since I had no intention of returning to the sewers unless it involved the death of this mysterious ‘H’.

Narisa’s directions proved to be excellent and I soon realised what she’d meant when she’d said I ‘should follow my nose’. Fresh, blessedly untainted air blew from one direction down the sewers. Turning my face to the breeze, I soon found myself scrambling through a grate and into the watercourse that ran into and out of the Great Bazaar. I found myself a bench and sat in the sunshine, warming myself as the sun dried me and the fresh breeze blew away the lingering stench of the sewers. While I sat there, I wondered what I should do next ~ perhaps one of the guards could help me find this ‘H’?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Sed,” the Ordinator said when I addressed him. I took the opportunity to covertly examine his armour. Even though it was silver, instead of the golden colour the Ordinators wore in Vivec City, it was of much higher quality. The helm, with its stern representation of male features was the same except for its colour. The rest of the armour was decorated with embossed patterns: the repeating image of House Indoril’s Moon-and-Star device featuring heavily. About the Ordinators waist hung a tabard, made of silver and white material that hung down around the ankles. At his waist hung a massive scimitar: silver and gold decorating the hilt and cross guard, the blade of gold-chased Ebony. “However, perhaps Sed Hler in the Temple can help. If anyone will know…”

“I am Ovis Velas,” a magically magnified voice boomed, cutting across what the Ordinator was saying. “I am the greatest Mage that ever lived.”