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

[OverrideB1]

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.”

[OverrideB1]

I didn’t stop long in Balmora after I’d returned there. I was still nervous of the Camonna Tong and didn’t wish to attract their attention by stopping in Hlaalu-controlled territory for too long. The Foyada was the usual bleak gully of rock, with no points of interest until I reached the very southernmost end. There, in the blank grey rock was set a plain wooden door. With a quiet prayer to anything that might be paying attention, I drew my axe and pushed open the door.

The first thing I noticed when I stepped into the gloom inside the caves was the smell. A mixture of rotting flesh and sulphur. The next things were the candles: dozens of them set on every possible surface. Small, squat, red candles ~ very much like those in Telasero. I hoped this was simply coincidental, but I feared very much that it wasn’t. Of course, if wishes were Septims, we’d all live like Emperors.

The first indication that I was facing the same cult that had infested Telasero was the naked Dunmer that raced out of a side tunnel, waving a chitin club. A few quick axe-strokes soon dealt with that problem. There were several more of these naked cultists in the tunnels, along with other creatures I’d not seen before. One, which I named an Ash-Slave, was a greatly disfigured Mer whose eyes were deeply sunken back in his head: this creature was slow but armed with fairly powerful magic. There was, however, worse to come.

Deep inside the tunnels of Hassour, I encountered a creature that seemed to have degenerated a stage further than the Ash-Slave. It was impossible to tell, from its appearance, whether the creature had been Man or Mer ~ its smooth, hairless skull gave no clue. The skin had gone totally grey, the pale colour of the ash wastes of the Molag Amur. However, despite it’s colour, the skin was smooth and lacked the flaky appearance of the other creatures I had encountered. What was most horrifying was the disfigurement of the face. The mouth had become little more than a lipless slit framing oddly discoloured teeth but that was the least of the changes. Where there should have been eyes and a nose was only a deep pit, the flesh inside blackened and covered in small lumps. In the centre of the hollow was a protrusion. Horrified that anyone would voluntarily undergo such appalling mutilation, I lashed out violently ~ hacking the creature down before it could even start weaving a spell.

It was deep inside Hassour, behind an ancient wooden door, that I found the ultimate horror of this dark cult ~ or so I thought. The door creaked open and a rush of fetid air rushed out. In the middle of the chamber was another of those dark metal shrines these cultists raise to whatever infernal god they worship. As in Telasero, there was a triangular plinth, the recesses of which were filled with a number of those grotesque statuettes. A larger, but no less hideous, version of the statue stood in the centre of the raised dais. Nearby was a single stone trough. Dominating the shrine was a robed and hooded figure, making some obscene obsequience to the red and black banner raised above the shrine.

I crept closer, axe raised. Some small fragment of stone must have moved under my foot for the hooded figure stiffened and turned quickly. Like the creature I had named an Ash-Zombie, this mutilated creature had undergone similar transmogrification. However, where there had been a slight protuberance, now grew a single thick tentacle of the same ash tones as the rest of the figure. Quick as a snake, it raised its hands and a flash of lightning lit the chamber.

I screamed as the bolt tore into me, my whole body jerking at the power of it. Even as I started to recover, there was another bolt heading towards me. Proving that I was no slouch in the ‘moving quickly’ department, I dove behind the trough (thankfully not filled with stinking meat as it had been in Telasero). As the bolt detonated harmlessly against the stone floor, I unshipped one of the crossbows and struggled to load it. When the bolt was in place and the string had snapped into the ratchet, I took a deep breath.

As another thunderous explosion shook the massive trough, I shot to my knees, aimed, and fired before ducking back behind cover as quickly as I could. The expected retaliatory thunderbolt failed to materialise, and I took the opportunity to recock and reload the crossbow. As I prepared to fire again, I realised I could hear a faint noise ~ like someone struggling to breath.

I risked a quick glance over the lip of the stone trough, steeling myself against any incoming magic. The hooded figure was flat on its back, arms and legs threshing wildly. Leaping to my feet and keeping the crossbow trained on it, I moved cautiously forwards. My hastily aimed bolt had taken the thing high in the chest, roughly where you’d expect a lung to be. Thick, black ichors oozed from the wound, staining the grey robe. With a moue of disgust, I pressed my foot to the creature’s chest ~ pushing it onto its back and pinning it in place. Aiming the ‘bow, I lowered it to a fraction of an inch from the creature’s forehead and pulled the trigger.

I leapt back to avoid the jet of thick, stinking fluid that spurted up as the creature’s head was slammed back against the rough stone. Then, avoiding stepping in the spreading pool of black liquid, I approached the banner the thing had been praying to. Made of some deep red fabric, it featured an insectoid device that I was sure I’d seen before. As I studied it, I realised that it was exactly the same as the handle of the dagger I’d taken from the Dunmer murderess. With a shiver, I grabbed the edge of the brocade and brought the shape of the Firebite spell to mind. I hade no idea if what I was attempting would work, and I was gratified to see the edge of the fabric charring as I poured power into the cantrip. By the time I was finished, there were rapidly spreading areas of blackening fabric as the device burned.

After despoiling the alter ~ smashing that evilly leering statue and scattering the smaller statuettes ~ I grabbed what seemed useful from the trough before hurling a fireball into the spreading flames and making a hasty exit. As I closed the door on that ill-fated chamber, I could see the flames eagerly consuming the monstrosity that had prayed there. Ashes to ashes, I thought, giggling a trifle hysterically.

Sobering quickly, I realised that there were unexplored areas of Hassour and that Tuls Valen had been very specific ~ cleanse the caves in the name of ALMSIVI had been his instructions. I took that to mean that I should leave no trace of this foul and depraved cult. There were few possessions to be seen in the mean cells hollowed out of the living rock at the end of the warren of tunnels under Hassour but the bedrolls burned with an eager flame ~ igniting everything that would burn nearby. So, axe in hand and leaving a trail of flame behind me, I shrived Hassour.

“So, you killed Dagoth Favon?” asked the man who’d stepped from the back of the last chamber I’d come to. “Pity, there’s so much more I could have taught him, and he me. Still, it is oft said that the best laid plans of Man and Mer…”

With a gesture, he caused a fine reddish mist to curl up around him. “Danio Brythwch,” he commanded. The mist writhed and thickened, becoming a swirling cloud of flame that leapt at me with startling speed. I threw myself out of the way, dropping the Wish as the flames scoured the spot where I’d been standing. When they faded, the very rock itself was glowing red-hot. Snapping to the side, I launched a fireball at him, watching in horror as the sphere of flames washed over him and left him completely unmarked. I dived for cover as a fireball roughly the size of a large Kagouti screamed down the narrow passageway. The sound of its passing was like thunder and it burned bright as the sun as it exploded against the far wall.

What manner of sorcerer was he? The spells he was casting were not any I’d heard of, couched as they were in the local language. And the sheer power of them was terrifying. I took a deep breath and stepped out of cover, chanting, “Obscurum successio,” as I did so. He screamed, the fireball he’d been in the process of creating spinning wildly out of control as the spell clouded his vision.

“This won’t stop me,” he screamed in fury, his fingers already weaving the mystic fluxes into the shape of a new spell. It didn’t need to stop him; it just needed to give me a second or two of clear aiming time. The crossbow twanged, launching its lethal load at his head. The sound was just what he’d been waiting for but his heightened senses proved to be his undoing. As he turned to face me, the bolt punctured his left eye with a gristly sound that was audible even from here. Without a sound, he fell like a log.

Having made sure that there was nothing left living anywhere in Hassour, I translocated to Balmora and locked myself into the former home of Dura gra-Bol’s.