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’ve been putting off going down into the Godsreach sewers for long enough. If it is true that there are Goblins down there, then it is a problem that needs to be dealt with. I doubt if either the Goddess or Fedris Hler would be very amused if I dallied for too long and the loathsome creatures somehow got into the streets. Accordingly, I spent a little time this morning repairing and sharpening my weapons and packing enough food, water, scrolls, and potions to last a couple of days. If my last foray into the sewers was anything to go by, I may be some time down there.

The heavy hatch that leads into the sewers is not far from Velas Manor and, as before, nobody took any notice when I lifted it and descended into the darkness. Of course, I now know the reason for this: it is common practice for poor visitors to use the sewer tunnels as a resting place instead of paying for a room. I consider myself extremely luck that I’ve not had to resort to that.

The burning torches threw grotesque shadows along the walls as I made my way along the ledge beside the dirty sewer water. There was a foul stench down here ~ fouler than the normal smell of the sewers I mean. A dirty, animal smell.

As I skirted a huge pile of fallen rock, I spotted a scrap of parchment. Lifting several stones revealed a sheet of it still clutched in the rotting remains of the poor unfortunate who’d brought it down here. It was headed ‘The Common Tongue’ and seemed to be a list of questions: an example of which was: “Anhar was an agent for Eastern Ebony merchants. There was an unfortunate scandal concerning improper contracts offered to Helseth as compensation for his assistance in obtaining Ebony import remits from the Imperial Board of Census and Excise. Luckily for Prince Helseth, this scandal blew over when no one could be found to testify. Is it just a coincidence that Anhar's health went into a steep decline, just as he was to testify before the Imperial magistrates? He died a natural death, according to the Imperial coroners. Convenient and timely, perhaps, but natural.” If this broadsheet were being passed around Mournhold it would explain why Tienius Delitian was hearing so many murmurings about the former king’s death. Folding the damming piece of parchment and tucking it into my pack, I continued on my way.

With a feral yell, the squat shape of a Goblin hurled itself from a side tunnel ~ clashing its crude sword against the buckler it carried. The creature was unskilled, even by my standards, and seemed to have no concept of defending itself. A quick, scything blow with the Wish soon silenced it forever. There was a problem, from somewhere ahead, in the dark, I could hear the dim clash of weapon on shield ~ no doubt more of the foul brood alerted by the one who’d attacked me. There was nothing I could do about it right now, other than advance with the utmost care and try to avoid running into large numbers of Goblins.

Of course, such a thing is easier said than done and it wasn’t long after killing the forward scout that I ran into a larger band. There were several foot soldiers and a much larger Goblin that seemed to be directing them. The larger Goblin was equipped with steel pauldrons and carried a small steel hand-axe instead of the crude bone weapons of its lesser brethren. The smaller, less organised Goblins fell easily enough ~ a well-paced fireball was all it took to scatter them sufficiently for me to take them on one-on-one. The hulking brute that led the band was a different matter.

The creature knew how to wield the axe; obviously well trained in the weapon it caused me several problems. Despite its great size and bulk, it was scarily quick on its clawed feet and its reflexes weren’t to be overlooked. I had the greater advantage in as much as I was armed with a much longer sword: before long the scaly green hide was a mass of small cuts and wounds where the Goblin hadn’t been able to avoid my blows. Finally, with a grunt, I managed to behead the damn’ thing.

The pouch at its waist contained several interesting items ~ a magical emblem of some kind and a yellow Ioun Stone amongst them. The presence of the glittering teardrop shaped stone was fairly probative of the fact that someone well connected was supplying the Horde. While I had no idea what powers the Ioun Stone might confer, I was extremely grateful that the creature hadn’t been using the Stone. Perhaps, in its eagerness to join the fight, it had simply forgotten that it had the stone? Of course, there was always the possibility that the stone belonged to some other poor adventurer who, venturing into these tunnels, had come to an… unpleasant end.

The sewers continued, ever descending, ever infested with Goblins and a variety of creature I’d never seen before. Of the size of a small pony, this scaled green beast with startling crimson eyes proved to be a far more formidable opponent than it’s appearance would suggest. Its speed and ferocity were to be both admired and feared: the slashing claws and drooling fangs made it a foe to be respected. Some of these creatures ~ that I’ve since learned are called Durzogs ~ bore studded leather collars around their thick necks and were obviously trained to defend the approaches to the area the Goblins were being trained.

Shaken and bruised, I reached the end of the sewers and the start of a series of caves cut into the rock. As before, these caves were littered with the remnants of buildings and structures long forgotten. As I ventured into the caves, a Nord ~ sitting on a bedroll beside a fire, gave me a flat glance. I nodded and continued on my way ~ why he was there and what he was doing were of no concern to me.

I came, in time, to a large cavern ~ the name of which struck me as fairly appropriate. ‘Battlefield’ was its name and a battlefield it would be. From my vantage point hidden in the rocks high above the rocky bowl, I could count half-a-dozen Goblins gathered around a number of camp-fires. Various passages led off from this place and, from the raucous din that echoed throughout, I knew that there were more of these foul creatures to be found.

I retreated back into the tunnels, finding an elevated spot where some long-ago tunneller had started to chip away but stopped after creating a small hollow. There were several of these in the tunnels and I had yet to discern their function ~ other than making for a secure spot to rest for the night. Hoping that there were no Shamans amongst the Horde, I levitated up to the hollow and set up a small camp ~ spending a cold and miserable night in those dank passages.