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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Having spent those parts of yestere when I was not recuperating from my experiences with Gavis Velas and the Dark Brotherhood, in the profitable pastime of selling the daggers and blades I’d picked up in the sewers, I awoke this morning feeling much refreshed and relaxed. I had arranged an interview with Fedris Hler for later in the day and decided that I should get myself acquainted with the wonders of this citadel within a city. My first point of exploration was to be Godsreach itself.

My accommodation was one of many large manors that filled this area, perhaps one of the largest with its secure vaults downstairs and its large upper floor. Many of the other mansions were far more impressively appointed and several, I found, were built one above the other. There was also a large Inn, called ‘The Wing’d Guar’, which did a brisk trade in providing accommodation for those caught inside the Citadel when the curfew bell rang. There was also two massively imposing structures: ‘The Mournhold Museum’ being one, and ‘The Craftsman’s Hall’ being the other. Since museums hold little interest for me, I went into the Craftsman’s Hall.

This proved to be a collection of very exclusive shops (i.e. extremely expensive) brought together under one roof. There were, I learned, various living quarters and tradesmen upstairs as well as on the main floor. Two shops in particular caught my eye. Walking to the back of the hall, I entered the Blacksmith’s there.

“Watch where you’re going Dark Elf!” a young Imperial snapped, even though I was nowhere near him. “Name’s Ilnori Faustus,” he said arrogantly. “A name you’d do well to remember: for I intend to make sure it goes into the history books as the name of the greatest adventurer of all time. I’m ill suited for this… menial work and only pursue this trade until I can get away.” With that, he turned away and continued stacking plates of hammered steel onto the shelf. I was sore tempted to tell him that the life he sought was no easy one but why should I spoil all the surprises?

Bols Indalen was one of the two smiths that worked the forge, the other being a large Orc who was ~ it seemed ~ far too busy to speak to me. Bols, however, seemed to be open and friendly. “I makes armour, me” he said proudly. “Bestest damn’ armour in t’whole of Mournhold. You want something off t’shelf; I’m yer Mer. Want something a bit more custom-made, like? Bring us the raw materials an’ I’ll make yer t’bestest armour you’ve e’er seen.”

“Could you do something with these?” I asked, fetching the Adamantium boots from their straps under my pack. “They’re a bit too big you see.”

“Aye,” he said, running a practiced eye over the boots. Putting them down, he took a tape and took several measurements of my foot before asking me to step, one foot at a time, into trays of wet clay. “Let’s ‘ave us a look at the boots,” he said. “Cor, right fine these are. I bain’t seen workmanship like this in a Guar’s age. Reckon these are booty, like?”

I confirmed that I had found them, and then asked the question that had been amusing me ever since Bols had started speaking. “What’s with the accent?”

“I dunno what yer means lass,” he replied, “Always spoken like this, me.”

“Come off it,” I said with a chuckle. “The genius yokel from nowhere who’s a wizard with metalwork might convince the locals, not me. Besides, your accent keeps slipping.” Bols grinned.

Leaning close, he whispered in my ear, “The locals all know, it’s only something put on for travellers such as you.” Then, in a normal tone of voice and, mercifully, without the yokel accent, he said, “It’ll take a few days to resize the boots ma’am. And I’ll have to ask you for two hundred and fifty Septims for labour and materials.” I agreed that this was an acceptable price and, taking one of his price-lists, I left the boots with him.

Edern Albrege was a clockmaker, an occupation I’d never heard of before. He enthusiastically explained his Craft to me. As best as I could understand it, he constructed time-keeping devices which ~ using a complex arrangement of gears, cogs, and pendulums ~ could keep time almost as well as the much rarer Dwemer timepieces. Fascinated and intrigued, I asked if I could commission a piece.

“I would be delighted and honoured to create a time-piece for you My Lady,” he replied. “Regrettably, I can undertake no new commissions at this time. A consignment of vitally important parts from Cyrodiil is unfortunately overdue. I have barely enough parts to complete the commissions I have.”

“Perhaps I can help?” I said. Albrege thought about this for a moment, and then told me that the shipment was coming via Ebonheart in Vvardenfell. Promising to look into the matter for him, I left the Craftsman's Hall and made my way across Godsreach to the gate that led to the Temple complex. I thought that those parts of the Palace I’d seen were impressive: next to the magnificence of the Temple, they paled to insignificance. Vast, and built of a pale green stone, the Temple stood on a raised platform in the middle of the park that surrounded it.

Fedris Hler, a short and rotund Mer with a fringe of black hair surrounding an island of skin atop his head, peered up at me. “Vahl, eh? I’ve heard something of your exploits in Old Mournhold young lady. But I assure you,” he added, “that I know nothing of this ‘H’ of whom you speak and less still about the machinations of the Dark Brotherhood. I do, however, have a small job I’d like you to do, Sed Vahl.”

The sudden use of the honorific reminded me exactly whom it was I was speaking to. Here was a Mer high in the service of the Temple I professed to serve. “My Faith, My Life” I murmured, repeating the phrase that I’d used in the Puzzle Canal.

“An excellent approach Curate,” he said. “Now, the Goddess Almalexia has information that King Helseth is training Goblins to serve in his army. The Lady considers such creatures an abomination and is aghast that Helseth would even consider using them as foot soldiers. Of equal concern is her fear that Helseth will not be able to control these foul beasts and that they will break into Mournhold doing untold harm.

“It is The Lady’s wish that you locate and destroy the Goblin War-Chiefs and the two Altmeri that Helseth has engaged to train the Goblins. Unfortunately, we have not been able to determine where Helseth is training them. Do this, and Goddess will be most pleased.”

Bowing low, I took my leave of the Temple and only letting my feelings be known when I was safely outside. Well, at least I shouldn’t have too much trouble locating where they were ~ Goblins aren’t the cleanest or most discrete of creatures. Once I’d located them, I could consider what to do next ~ and exactly how far I could run in the opposite direction.

“Excuse me,” a thin, reedy voice accompanied the tug on my robe. Looking down, I looked into the face of a Bosmeri. “I will gladly pay you back on Tirdas for a loan of ten Septims today.”

Looking at the shabby state of the Wood Elf’s clothing, I figured that here was a down-on-his-luck pilgrim. A small donation, a show of charity, might get me a little better luck. “Here,” I said, tossing the Bosmer a 10-Septim coin.

“You are most kind Dark Elf,” he said. “Since we are on such good terms, perhaps you could lend me a hundred Septims today, I will gladly pay you back next Tirdas.”

I laughed, “That’s some approach you’ve got there friend. For the sheer cheek of it, here.” Digging in my purse, I found ten ten-Septim coins and gave them to the Bosmeri. He clutched them, beaming happily.

“We’re getting along famously, you and I,” he said. “I’m sure that you will lend me a thousand Septims today, and I will gladly pay you back next Tirdas.”

“Now you’re just being greedy,” I snapped, no longer seeing the humour. “No, I will not lend you a thousand Septims.”

“Perhaps you misunderstand,” he said, his broad face flushing. “You lend me a thousand Septims today. I pay you back next Tirdas. A very simple transaction.”

“Perhaps it’s you who misunderstand,” I replied. “Do you have some difficulty understanding the concept of ‘No’?”

“You’ll regret this Dark Elf,” he hissed in an icy voice. “Nobody says no to Gaenor, nobody.” He stalked off, muttering to himself. Shaking my head, I made my way towards the Brindisi Dorum Gate ~ reflecting as I did so that there are few odder creatures on this plane of existence than Bosmeri.

“Goblins? Not that I know of,” said the High Ordinator when I asked him the question. “Although, there have been some strange creatures seen in the sewers beneath Godsreach.” I thanked him and continued across Brindisi Dorum until I came to the massive wooden gates of the Royal Palace. Tienius Delitian was obviously expecting me; he’d sent a guard to escort me to him.

“Ahh, the esteemed Sudhendra Vahl,” the Cyrodiil said as I was led into the huge echoing chamber of the throne room. I took the opportunity to look at him as I walked closer. He had the usual arrogant bearing of a high-ranking Imperial and was clad in the same red and silver armour as the guards that lined the sides of the chamber ~ although he wasn’t wearing a helm. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, extending his hand in the western fashion. I glanced down at it and ignored it totally.

“Well,” he said, letting his hand drop to his side after a second or two, “I am sure that you can be…”

“What do you know about an assassination attempt?” I cut across whatever he was going to say. “More specifically, an attempt on my life?”

“There are more important matters to discuss,” he said smoothly. I knew, in that instant, that here was someone who knew about the Dark Brotherhood contract on me. However, it would seem that I had to play his game if I wished to gain more information.

“Such as,” he continued, “the source of the rumours about the death of King Llethan. His majesty, King Helseth, is quite concerned about the stories going around that Llethan’s death might not have been entirely natural. He would like you to go out, among the common people, and speak to them. He desires a report on what their feelings about the former King’s death are. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” I replied, shaking my arm free of the guard’s grip. Turning on my heel, I stalked from the Throne Room and down into the reception area. Somehow, by coming here, I have got myself caught between State and Church ~ each seeking to use me for their own ends in their fight for supremacy in Mournhold. Well, blow that for a game ~ I needed time to decide what, if anything, I was going to do about Helseth’s Goblins or the rumours about Llethan’s death.

Effie-Tai proved to be willing to return me to Ebonheart, so I left the intrigue behind for a while so I could get some time to think.

“Arch-Magister,” the Dunmeri woman said, sweeping in to stand beside me as I walked through the Grand Council Chamber. “You look troubled. How may I help you Sed?”

The woman turned out to be Galus Drenim, the Telvanni representative to Ebonheart. It was her job to make sure that House Hlaalu and House Redoran didn’t try to pull any sneaky tricks in the Council and to represent the House’s best interests. She quickly pointed out the Mer who represented Hlaalu and Redoran. I asked her if she’d heard anything about a shipment of clock parts. “Alas no Arch-Magister,” she replied. “We try not to get bogged down in the minutiae of everyday life in the Council. However, if you need information on shipments in and out of Ebonheart, you could do worse than starting at the East Empire Company offices down by the docks.”

Canctunian Ponius, another fat and smug Imperial official, was initially reluctant to help until I reminded him that it was his job to do so ~ without ‘sweeteners’ to grease the wheel. When he suggested I come back in five, or six, days I politely pointed out to him he was talking to the Arch-Magister of Great House Telvanni and that I didn’t intend to wait more than a few minutes for the information. “Well,” he said huffily, after scrabbling through various papers on his desk, “there was a consignment bound for Mournhold. It was loaded aboard ‘The Muzariah’: which sailed over a fortnight ago. I see no reason the shipment should have been delayed by Customs on the Mainland, so it should have arrived by now.”

Well, it obviously hadn’t arrived on the Mainland, and I was now nonplussed as to what to do next. If I returned to Mournhold, I wouldn’t be able to get out of the enclave to go down to the local warehouses to check and, because of the quarantine, I wouldn’t be able to get passage over to the nearest Mainland port to find out what had happened.

Lacking any obvious way to find out what had happened to the shipment, I translocated myself over to Ald’ruhn and spoke with Tuls Valen. “You have returned to us,” he said with a smile. “This is excellent, especially since word has come from the upper hierarchy that they want you to receive another promotion. Congratulations Disciple Vahl.

“Now,” he said. I was fast coming to hate that word when uttered by a member of the Temple, it invariably meant that I was about to be passed some hot Ash Yam that somebody wanted dealt with ~ quickly. This was no exception. “There are, we understand, some cultists in the caverns of Hassour. We want you to cleanse the caves and bring the Temple’s justice to the cultists.”

“How do I find this Hassour?” I asked.

“Firstly, you’ll need to go to Balmora. From there, head east past the Fort and into the Foyada Mamaea. If you follow this south, you will reach the caverns of Hassour.”