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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I turned to see a figure step from a cloud of silvery-white smoke. He was a bald Mer with a long white beard. He was clad in a dark blue robe, arcane symbols around the sleeves and hem. Eyes narrowed, he scanned the crowd, many of whom were backing slowly away. “You,” he said, pointing at a young man, “prepare to defend yourself.”

This was too much for me. Stepping in front of the cowering youth, I snapped, “Try picking on someone who’s got some experience of magic.” For a second I thought I saw a flicker of something in the wizard’s eyes, and then he straightened and nodded.

“So be it,” he boomed. Then, extending a finger, he began to chant a complex sounding spell. With a grin, I reached out and grabbed the extended finger and rattled off a quick spell of my own, “igneus manus.”

The effect was stunning: screaming, the almighty Velas grabbed his arm and collapsed on the floor, writhing in agony. Suddenly he stiffened and groaned, then went completely limp. I bent to examine the wizard, only to find that it was a corpse that I was studying. I glanced up at the Ordinator; they tend to take a very dim view of that sort of thing. Fortunately, the guard was as nonplussed as I was. “That was certainly… odd,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve been hearing tales of this great and powerful wizard Velas all week. Yet, when he appears, you end up killing him with a simple fire-bite spell. Well, that’s certainly one I’ll be telling the lads back at the barracks.”

“It was certainly different,” I said, straightening up. “There’s no way that that spell should have killed him.”

“Velas?” the Ordinator mused. “Hmmm, there’s a Velas Manor over in Godsreach.” With that, the Ordinator marched off about his business. Leaving me to ponder the unlikely demise of the ‘great and powerful’ wizard Velas and any possible links he might have to Velas Manor. I decided it couldn’t hurt to investigate. Godsreach was easy enough to find ~ it was on the opposite side of the Plaza Brindisi Dorum to the Great Bazaar.

Godsreach was impressive and imposing. Occupying roughly the same sort of area as the Bazaar, this district of Mournhold was filled with fine mansions. Built of the same dark stone that the rest of the citadel, these two and three story edifices screamed wealth and power. Velas Manor was pretty representative of the rest of the buildings: a large, two-storey building with arched windows and an engraved front door. A locked, engraved front door.

Glancing around to make sure I was unobserved, I withdrew a scroll from my pack and repeated the words written thereon. It’s fortunate that there were very few pedestrians in Godsreach ~ the flare of magic would have been easily visible to anyone who cared to look. As the lock clicked and fell open, I quickly pushed on the door and stepped inside. The interior of the manse was cool but well lit, and books lined the shelves that stood on both sides of the room. Over in one corner a set of stairs led down to a basement while, directly next to them, a set of stairs led to an upper floor. I could hear footsteps descending the stairs.

“Didn’t I just kill you?” I asked the bald Mer with the long white beard as he stepped into the room and glared at me. He was an exact duplicate of the Mer I’d just accidentally killed in the Great Bazaar.

“Ahh,” he said in a cultured voice that held the faint lingering hints of Imperial elocution, “you must have met my brother Ovis. I am Gavis Velas, and my brother was fond of passing himself off as me since we are identical twins. Or rather, were identical twins.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I said with genuine feeling. “But…”

“Oh, I have no doubt that Ovis attacked you first,” Gavis said with a wave of the hand. “Exactly the sort of damn’ fool thing he would have done. You are, I take it, something of a Mage yourself?” I confirmed that this was so, and the wizard sighed. “Magic runs in our family you see,” he explained. “Unfortunately, I seem to have got Ovis’ share of the power as well as my own. He could never accept that…

“Still, the fact remains that you did kill my brother,” he stated. “And, for that Muthsera, I’m afraid you are going to have to die.” As he finished speaking, he raised his hands. A stiff wind blew up and the air above his head started to darken and swirl.

To be perfectly honest, I am a great judge of my own luck, or lack thereof, and had been expecting something like this since the Mer had descended the stairs. The loaded crossbow clicked and Gavis’ shoulder suddenly grew a short stub of feathered steel. He clutched his shoulder and then, with a grimace, pushed the bolt right the way through and pulled it out through the back. As he straightened from the contortions this manoeuvre had necessitated, blue sparks spun in a localised vortex around his shoulder, repairing the damage. That little trick was almost as impressive as the fact that, throughout the whole bolt-removal and healing-spell casting, he’d never once allowed the vortex above his head to collapse. I began to get the feeling that I might be in trouble here.

The vortex had, by now, taken on a stormy aspect, and tiny flickers of lightning were already visible in the gathering storm. I quickly reviewed my spells and decided that magic wasn’t the way to go. Any attempt I made to fight Gavis on a magical level was probably doomed to failure. That left the old scream and leap technique.

Of course, that only works when the blade of your sword doesn’t bounce off a hastily conjured mystic shield. Of course, this did have the advantage of keeping Gavis Velas trapped inside the shield ~ along with the very nasty storm he was brewing up. With a wicked grin, I began pounding on the shield, forcing the mage to keep it in place so I didn’t get a blow through. After I’d hit the shield enough times, there was also the possibility of it collapsing. Gavis realised this and, with a grimace, dismissed his portable storm clouds and started chanting something else. There was a subtle shifting in the air and I dived aside as the Summoned Golden Saint’s scythe hissed through the air where I’d been standing.

This was even better: levelling my gloved hand, I concentrated and let the power flow out. Cold and devoid of any feelings, the mind of the Golden Saint opened up to me and, with a faintly metallic creak, it turned and began pounding on the mage’s shield with the scythe. After a minute of this, it became obvious that it was down to a contest of will. Sweat was pouring down his face as he struggled to re-establish control over his Summoning and maintain the integrity of his defensive field. I, meanwhile, was struggling to keep my hold over the Dremora intact ~ between Gavis’ efforts to regain control and the Golden Saint’s natural resistance, I was almost on my knees with the effort of it.

I couldn’t say how long we’d been at it when two things happened at once. A particularly hard blow from the scythe caused the mystic shield to blink out of existence while, almost immediately afterwards, the Summoned’s allotted time on this plane ran out and it vanished in a puff of yellowish smoke. Gavis and I reeled backwards with the shock of it and it was only my quicker reflexes that allowed me to defeat the Mage. Screaming, ”Vomica cruor,” I launched my final spell at him ~ constantly regaining control over the Golden Saint had all but drained me.

The spell caught, and he shrieked in agony as he was consumed from the inside out by the vindictive power of the enchantment. Sagging, totally exhausted, I made my way through the rest of the manor building in search of unwelcome surprises. Finding none, I collapsed on the bed and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.