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]

After a decent night’s sleep tucked up safely in my locked room deep underground, I set out to explore the rest of this manse and to see if I could discover the whereabouts of the War Chiefs. Exploration of Teran manor didn’t take long, there were a few crates tucked up some corners but I found very little of any interest. Thereafter, it was back into the maze of tunnels that surround this area.

After several brief and violent encounters with wandering bands of Goblins, I came to a small wooden door set into the side of one of the tunnels. Crudely written on the door, in western script, was the legend ‘Tears of Amun-Shae’. Not a name to inspire much confidence. As I studied the door, it suddenly swung open and I found myself face to chest with the biggest damn’ Goblin I’ve ever seen. With a yelp, I leapt back as a huge mace crashed down on the spot I’d been standing.

As the grunting brute advanced, I scrambled to my feet and hefted the Wish. The crescent-shaped blade hummed as it cut through air and Goblin flesh with equal ease. Thick reddish coloured blood oozed from the deep cut and, to my consternation, the Goblin War Chief threw back its head and uttered what sounded like a laugh. “Huuu-man,” it grumbled deep in its throat, “kuh-ill huuu-man.”

“I can see why they made you War Chief,” I jested with a certain morbid humour. The creature cocked its head, apparently listening to what I said. Then, baring an impressive array of fangs, it dragged itself upright and lashed out with the mace. The impact felt like I imagine being struck by lightning feels like ~ the force of it threw me several feet backwards and, at no point in that short journey, did my feet touch the ground. Had I been wearing lesser armour, the blow would have cracked me like an egg: perhaps the only time I would ever be grateful that Therana was insane.

One thing was certain though, another couple of blows like that and it wouldn’t matter what armour I was wearing. Rolling away from another crushing blow, I scrambled to my feet and squared up to my foe. As the creature brought the mace back up, I hacked downwards with the axe, blocking the blow. “All right handsome,” I said, “let’s dance.”

Squaring off against the brute, I started moving the axe in a slow circular pattern ~ weaving a web of pain for the creature if it got too close. Slowly increasing the speed, I advanced on the Goblin, forcing it backwards towards the door. Muscles bunched, and I read its intention even before the heavy mace started to move.

Spinning to the side, I let the whirling blade of the Wish slice outwards as the mace raised dust from the spot I’d been in moments before. The War Chief grunted in pain as the ornately carved crescent tore through skin, flesh and muscle, and then howled as the axe’s enchantment bit home. I pressed my advantage, whirling around the confused beast like a top ~ the now singing blade of the axe slashing out again and again. More cuts, gaping tears, appeared in the tough hide of the creature: each wreathed in hungry licks of flame. I lost count of the number of blows I landed: thirty, forty, maybe more. Finally, when I stopped moving, panting from exhaustion, there seemed to be no part of the brutish creature not leaking blood.

I hadn’t counted on the Goblin War Chief being this tough ~ despite the multitude of wounds it was still moving towards me in an attack posture. Furious, I started whirling the axe and, with a shout of “Why won’t you just die?” I hurled the Wish at the Goblin, hard. There was a noise similar to the sound you get when you bury an axe-head in the bole of a thick tree and the Goblin reached up in confusion to feel the blade that now protruded from its brow. “Oh you have got to be kidding me!” I exclaimed as, raising the mace, the War Chief took a step towards me.

As I scrabbled to draw the Ebony blade from its scabbard, the Goblin took another step, raising its mace high overhead. At the top of the arc, the mace simply kept going ~ tipping the now dead War Chief onto its back. With a gasp, I sank to my knees and drew in as much oxygen as I could. Over the last two days I’d fought numerous Goblins but nothing had prepared me for the sheer tenacity of the War Chief. When I could breath properly again, I carefully examined the massive corpse. Aside from the mace (which I could barely lift) and the leather harness that preserved whatever passed for modesty amongst these beasts, the only thing I found was a large plain key.

They key fitted perfectly into the lock of the chest I found a little way inside Amun-Shae. Inside I found six 100-Septim coins and a buckler. The shield was heavily enchanted, constructed out of some pinkish bone-like material. Since I had, to date, done most of my fighting with a long-handled axe or a double-handed sword I had no use for a shield but I took the buckler anyway ~ I might be able to get a couple of Septims for it from a collector.

With the money in my purse and the buckler strapped to the back of my pack, I advanced cautiously down the tunnels of Amun-Shae, keeping to the shadows as much as I could. As I approached the end of the tunnels, I could see the bulk of the second War Chief moving about in the chamber ahead of me. Not wishing to fight another such brute (my ribs still ached from the blow the first one had given me), I resorted to magic. Without some source to provide the fumes, the poison-cloud spell was incredibly difficult to cast: necessitating a second attempt before I felt the cantrip engage. Maintaining it proved equally as hard and, by the time I heard the thump of the War Chief’s body on the floor, I was literally on my knees, sweating profusely.

After giving the fumes some time to disperse and myself a little longer to recover, I ventured into the chamber. The huge bulk of the War Chief lay in one corner and, nearby, lay the corpses of two foot soldiers and a hulking brute that I hadn’t even known were there. The corpses of the War Chief and the foot soldiers provided nothing except a few restore health potions but the ‘lieutenant’ carried a rare prize indeed. Reverently wrapping the Black Ioun Stone in some cloth, I slipped it into my pack before completing my examination of the chamber.

I had accomplished what I’d come down here for: both of the trainers and the two War Chiefs were dead, but there were still areas to explore down here and I wished to make sure that the Horde was scattered or damaged badly enough to ensure it would no longer pose a threat. Besides, the door just ahead of me was to something called ‘The Armoury’ and I was intrigued enough to want to see what weapons I might be able to recover.

Rings and gold coins I found aplenty, as well as a large number of Goblins. Fortunately, these were mostly the smaller foot soldiers and I was able to cut a bloody swathe through their ranks with relative ease. In a small cavern just beyond the armoury ruins I found two massive outcroppings of rock ~ completely different in both colour and texture to the surrounding stone. Metal crystals poked from the surface of both and, working carefully with the pick-axe, I was able to extract two chunks of raw Adamantium from the protrusions. Although these were massively heavy for their size, I was able to fit both into my pack and shoulder it ~ although the straps cut into my shoulders abominably for the rest of the day.

The armoury ruins came to an end, and I found myself back in the tunnels that burrowed throughout this area. As I stepped into them, I saw a red chalked arrow pointing roughly east and knew that I’d been passed this particular turning before. Turning west, I headed back towards the sewers. Several hours later, I came to the sewer entrance and stumbled from the tunnels gratefully. Now, all I had to do was follow the chalked arrows back to…

“Whoa!” I yelled as a thunderous bolt of lightning hurled out of the darkness and exploded right beside me. As the spell discharged itself into the running water, I ducked behind a thick pillar for cover as a second thunderous bolt flew out of the gloom and blew a chunk out of the wall opposite. Peering cautiously around my cover, I spotted the large Goblin-shaped figure further down the sewer. One of the ‘Minder’-types I thought, but who in the name of Azura had taught the brute to use magic?

I puzzled over this seeming contradiction ~ Goblins were canny but not intelligent: certainly not smart enough to learn a spell of this magnitude although the Shamans were to be feared with their innate magical abilities. I’d not encountered a Shaman down in the tunnels and had no idea what they might look like although, by all accounts, they were smaller creatures than the one currently hurling lightning from the darkness. I’d not been idle while I’d been thinking, the crossbows had been loaded with two of my precious bolts ~ I needed to obtain more fairly soon as I was down to just five after I’d fired these two.

The bolts whipped off into the darkness as I made a snap-shot with both of the small crossbows. The answering fusillade of lightning-bolts told me I’d been wide of the mark. As I struggled to reload, the crashing blows of the spell against the pillar I was using as cover suddenly stopped and I heard an interrogative grunt echo down the tunnel. Dropping the bows, I withdrew the sword and ran towards the hulking figure. The Goblin was still peering at its right hand and shaking it when the blade lopped off its head.

The ring it wore was mute but there was still a faint echo when I touched it ~ showing that it was innately magical but drained of charge. This explained how the Goblin had been able to cast such a powerful spell ~ it was the ring's enchantment it had discovered how to use. My heart pounded as I hacked off the finger and took the simple golden band. Why was I so excited? The ring had eight tiny indentations in its metal and I knew, from books I’d read, that only a few very special rings were missing their stones. If I was correct, then this was the ancient artefact-ring known as ‘Spark’.

Burdened down by my pack, I slogged through the running water of the sewers, too exhausted to climb onto the small ledge that ran along the outside edges of the water-channel. It was a blessed relief when I came to the familiar metal ladder leading up to an overhead trapdoor. “Oy!” I yelled, hammering on the thick wood with the butt of my dagger, “people trying to get out of the sewers here!”

There was a shuffling of feet overhead and then the trapdoor was lifted from above, allowing in a flood of clean, sweet air and warm, golden light. Scrambling up the last few rungs, I collapsed onto the stone and breathed deeply of the first fresh air I’d tasted in days. “You can’t loiter there scum,” the High Ordinator who’d lifted the trapdoor groused. With a heavy sigh I rose to my feet and made my way through the streets of Godsreach back to Velas Manor. Shortly thereafter, I was luxuriating in a deep tub of magically heated water. Fedris Hler can wait, I thought as I sipped my Sujamma.