The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Night Mother, Being the Tenth Installment... Options

[OverrideB1]

The letter, dated three days ago, was quite specific. “We have been observing you Sed Telvanni Vahl, and would like to extend to you an invitation to meet us and work with us. If you have an interest, be where you and the murderer fought V’s warriors within a fortnight. We will contact you.” It was signed with an ornate “EH”.

I had Effie-Tai send me back to Ebonheart and, from there; I made my way to Vivec City and the storage area underneath the Arena Canton. The only murderer that I knew I’d had any dealing with was Saprius Entius and V’s Warriors could only refer to the two Ordinators we’d fought in this very chamber. A convenient crate gave me a good view of the main door into the chamber and a thorough search had made sure that there was nobody hiding in one of the adjoining rooms. Swords drawn and across my lap, I sat watching the door ~ waiting for this mysterious EH to make an appearance.

“Do not move,” a voice said, accompanied by the prick of a dagger-point at the back of my neck. “Trust us when I say that we mean you no harm.”

“Trust is a difficult commodity to come by,” I said, somewhat annoyed that this Mer had managed to sneak up behind me unheard. And, come to that, where had he snuck up on me from?

“This is true,” the voice whispered in my ear. “So, here is where you have a choice. In a second or two, my companion is going to cast a spell on you… no, sit still and hear me out,” the voice said as a hand pressed me back down on the crate. “The spell is a simple temporary blinding spell. It will wear off after a while. Once the spell is cast, you can trust us to take you to the place we’ve been instructed to take you, or you can remain here while the spell wears off.

“Rest assured that we will not be leading you into harm if you choose to accompany us. If you choose to remain here, we will never get in touch with you again. Now…”

“Caddug Chodymau,” a different voice said behind me and I gasped involuntarily as darkness obscured my vision.

“So,” the first voice said, “time to make a decision Sed Telvanni Vahl. Will you now, of your own free will, accompany us into peril and darkness or will you remain here?”

The question had a ritualistic feel to it and, on the spur of the moment, I decided to take a chance that these softly spoken Mer were telling the truth. “I will accompany you in darkness into peril,” I replied.

“Very good,” the voice said as a hand took me by the elbow and helped me to stand. “Do not speak, or call out. If you do, we will abandon you. Now, place your hand on my shoulder and we will guide you.” We went forward and I distinctly heard the click of the storage room door as it closed behind us. Then, a short while later, “there are steps here,” the voice said.

I was led out of the Arena Canton and down into a gondola. I couldn’t hear what the Mer said to the gondolier but we were ferried away to another Canton. From the length of the voyage, it could have been anyone of several. I was led up into the canton and then up stairs, down stairs, along corridors and back down ramps before we boarded another gondola.

“Almost there,” the soft voice said after an unknown time wandering Cantons or travelling on gondolas. “Down these stairs here,” the voice said as he guided me down, “along here and kneel. Do you feel that empty space beneath your hands? I’m guiding your hands to the ladder, feel it?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Good, down to the bottom now Sed Telvanni Vahl and wait for us. We will guide you the last little distance.” I clumsily made my way down the ladder and stood in the darkness at the bottom while the two Mer made their way down. I had feared that we were in the sewers beneath one of the Cantons but a surreptitious sniff of the air told me that this wasn’t the case. Hands gripped each elbow, and I was guided along a corridor that took several sharp rightward bends and up another flight of stairs. There was an odd silence to the place and I got the feeling I was being watched by a number of people who were keeping very, very quiet ~ and were extremely skilled at it.

After wending our way through several more corridors and open spaces, I was led up another flight of stairs and through a corridor that echoed oddly, as though it was much larger than it felt. Finally, I was brought to a halt and the softly spoken Mer said, “This is where we leave you Sed Telvanni Vahl. Remember, any peril here is of your own making.”

“Glanhau,” a voice said from in front of me. The darkness lifted and I found myself standing in a small chamber with a cupboard, a table, and a bed. It was, however, the slightly built Mer standing in front of me that commanded my attention. Several inches shorter than me, the slender Mer sported the odd, tied-back hairstyle that I had come to associate with Ordinators and soldiers. He was clad in a robe of deep red, decorated with bronze coloured thread. A scar crossed his left eye but seemed to have done no damage. The only other thing I noticed before he spoke was the black leather glove on his left hand.

“Greetings Sed Telvanni Vahl,” the Dunmer said, inclining his head respectfully. “I trust that your journey here wasn’t too onerous. Please, forgive us the theatrics, but we do maintain a very high degree of secrecy here. Oh, and my name is Eno Hlaalu.”

“A pleasure to meet you Muthsera Hlaalu,” I replied, dropping my hand to the hilts of Claw and Fang as the Hlaalu name registered with me. The Mer smiled, not seeming to notice my aggressive stance. “Why have you brought me here?” I asked.

“To kill you,” Eno said, dropping a hand onto the hilt of the curved blade on the table beside him. My hands closed on the hilts of my sword and the Skaal blades hissed silkily from their scabbards. There was a sudden and stunning impact and, when I recovered moments later, Eno Hlaalu was standing facing me, Claw and Fang held in his hands. “Slow and unnecessarily showy,” he said, looking at the blades. “Nice swords,” he added, “Skaal, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” I replied warily as he placed the swords on the table beside him. I had already shaken the emergency dart from its place in my robe and the heavy Dwemer weapon now lay concealed in my palm. Whipping my hand up, I launched the dart at Eno ~ who calmly plucked it out of the air as though it had been hung there on a piece of string in front of him.

“Not fast enough,” he admonished, “and the throw was clumsy, albeit accurate enough. Now, perhaps we can forgo the embarrassing moment when you reach for your axe only to discover I have already misappropriated it?” He gestured to the bed, moving slightly so that I could see the Last Wish resting on the cover.

“Boot dagger?” I suggested.

“Ahhh, we missed that one,” he said with a laugh. “Such an old fashioned hiding place that few would think to check there. The people responsible will be… reminded and encouraged to do better. Please,” he added, “have a seat and we will talk.”

Warily, I sat on the seat on one side of the table as he sat opposite me. He poured two goblets of wine and grinned at me as he pushed one towards me. I reached over and grabbed the other goblet, and then stopped. “The age old dilemma,” he said, “is the one I pushed towards you poisoned or, anticipating the fact that you’d reach for the other goblet, did I, in fact, poison that one? Or, perhaps,” he said, taking a mouthful of wine from each goblet and filling them back up, “neither are poisoned.”

“Or perhaps,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes as I sipped the red wine appreciatively, “I have already taken the antidote and both goblets are poisoned?

"In fact,” he said, struggling to suppress a smirk as I spluttered a mouthful of red wine everywhere, “neither goblet is poisoned. Getting you here simply to administer poison is rather baroque, don’t you think?”

“So why did you get me here,” I asked, pushing the wine aside, “and who are you?”

“We are the Night-Mother’s Children, the Adepts of Mephala,” he said, “more commonly known as The Morag Tong.” While I sat there, gawping at him in total shock, Eno Hlaalu continued, “as to the reason we’ve requested this meeting… Well, that is rather easy to answer. We have been watching you for a while now and are impressed with what we’ve seen. Although crude and clumsy in technique, you show a certain flair for combat that we would like to help you… evolve. Therefore, in accordance with our ancient customs, we extend an invitation to you: join us.”

This post has been edited by OverrideB1: May 23 2006, 08:03 PM

[OverrideB1]

“Join a bunch of murderers for hire?” I spluttered.

Eno winced, a bleak look crossing his face for a moment. “That,” he said forcefully, “is a common misconception. While it is true that we… remove people from the realms of the living and get paid for doing so, we are not a bunch of thuggish killers. I fear that your exposure to the scum of the so-called Dark Brotherhood has tainted your perceptions.

“We are the arbiters of inter-House conflict,” he continued calmly. “Where there is conflict between the Great Houses that may, or may not, lead to House War: that is the place you will find us. When Great House Redoran has a complaint against Great House Hlaalu, for Redoran to actively engage the person, or persons, responsible runs the risk of causing an escalation of the conflict. We are simply neutral: we are engaged to resolve such problems without the risk of triggering a House War.”

“I’m head of Great House Telvanni,” I said sharply. “Just how neutral will people believe I am?”

“I, myself, am a House Brother in Great House Hlaalu,” Eno responded. “Very few in the House are aware of what I also do. Those that do know remain extremely quiet; knowing as they do that the Morag Tong has served them faithfully in the past ~ even though it has been headed by Telvanni or Redoran.”

I sat and thought about what Eno had told me, about the neutrality of the Morag Tong and how they work to prevent disputes escalating to the point of open combat between the Houses. Eno also explained Grey and Black Writs and the way that these work. He also heaped a great deal of invective on the Dark Brotherhood. Finally, I asked the question that had been weighing on my mind since Eno’s offer, “What happens if I say that I don’t want to join you?”

“Then my associates will blind you again and lead you from this place,” Eno said, “and the invitation will never be repeated. However, should you agree, you will be given a Black Writ to fulfil. Then my associates will blind you again and lead you from this place. On completion of the Writ, you will return to the place you were taken to and we will guide you back here.”

“I will accept your invitation,” I said, after having given the matter some thought. Something told me that this was a unique offer and that to turn it down would be counter-productive. Besides, I couldn’t turn down the chance to learn more of this most mysterious organisation. True to his word, Eno explained the functions of a Writ to me before I was once more magically blinded and led from the hidden headquarters. After an extremely circuitous journey, I was left on my own and, as the spell cleared, I could see that I was back in the storage room under the Arena Canton.

The roll of parchment, with its black wax seal, revealed a name and a location amidst the fancy language: Feruren Oran at the Elven Nations Cornerclub. The Elven Nations is on the plaza in the Hlaalu Canton and getting there was not a difficult task. The Cornerclub was bustling when I entered and a few discrete questions of the inn-keeper soon revealed what I needed to know. Squaring my shoulders, I descended the ramp into the lower area of the Cornerclub and picked out my target.

Feruren was a youngish-looking Mer with a shock of coppery coloured hair. He was talking to another Mer but that wasn’t of any interest to me. Eno had given me very clear instructions as to how I was to proceed and I had the feeling that I was under observation. Taking a moment to settle myself, I spoke the words Eno had taught me, “Feruren Oran, in the name of the Night-Mother, I bring you death.”

He span to face me, his eyes widening as the blood drained from his face. The black-hilted dagger that Eno had given me slid into my hand and, as he started to draw his sword, I plunged it deep into his chest. There was absolute pandemonium as the Mer coughed up blood and collapsed to the floor ~ several patrons started to draw their swords but stood down as the import of the ornate dagger sank in. Feeling slightly queasy, I wheeled around and strode up the ramp.

“That’s her,” the proprietor shrilled to the three Ordinators, pointing at me as I stepped into the upper levels of the Elven Nations, “That’s the killer.” Eno had also told me how to deal with this situation and, as the three Ordinators approached with maces drawn, I unrolled the parchment and extended it towards them. One took the scroll from me and read it.

“Morag Tong,” he said simply, lowering his mace and returning it to the loops on his belt. His compatriots followed suit, and one of them turned and spoke two short words to the proprietor as I walked out of the Cornerclub and made my way down to the lower levels. The walk from the Hlaalu Canton to Arena isn’t particularly long and, before too much time had elapsed, I was back in the storage area underneath the Canton.

Nor was I alone, two dark-robed figures stepped from the shadows as I entered and the taller of the two spoke, “welcome back Adept, Grandmaster Hlaalu has instructed us to show you the secret ways into our headquarters.” With that, the Mer guided me into one of the side rooms and lifted the lid off a large, empty crate. I blinked, and then grinned as the base of the crate was raised to reveal a short set of ladders down into a dark tunnel.

“You mean you led me half way around Vivec City and brought me back here?” I laughed. Eno grinned and nodded. Then he gestured for me to sit and sat opposite me.

“If I may,” he said, extending his hand. I realised he wanted the Writ back and handed it over. “Thank you,” he said, putting the Writ to one side. “Now, the fee on that Writ was two hundred and fifty Septims…” Eno slid the coins across the desk to me “…since Feruren Oran was more of a minor nuisance than a major threat.”

“What was his crime?” I asked.

“That is the one thing we do not ask,” Eno said with asperity. “It is the task of the people in our Guild Halls to assess potential clients and create the Writs. We simply… act upon them. Now, as to your performance in the execution of the Writ: as I said earlier, sloppy and clumsy but showing great potential. We have several people here who can train you in various skills: infiltration, archery, poisons, short-bladed weapons, swords, daggers, and traps, that sort of thing. We also have a very strict dress code, while your armour is most impressive; it hardly fits the image we seek to project. Speak to Rogdul gro-Bularz; he will see that you are properly outfitted. Then you should report back to me Associate Vahl.”

The Orc provided me with a wine-red robe, the edges of which were decorated with bronze filigree. The robe seemed oddly heavy and, on closer examination, actually had armoured plates sewn into the upper body front and back. I was also given a single black leather glove, a copy of ‘The Black Hand’, a small pouch containing a number of empty phials, and a leather folder containing a dozen of the silver-bladed, black-handled daggers. The Orc also showed me the supply room ~ a bewildering array of weapons, darts, and methods of dealing death.

“So, Associate Vahl,” Eno said when I returned to his chamber, “I have two tasks for you. The first is a Black Writ to be served on Odaishah Yasalmibaal. He may be well known to the guards of your House for it is for Great House Telvanni that the Writ is issued. All I can tell you is that he is a renegade Ashlander and bandit with a camp somewhere near Tel Aruhn.

“The second is a Grey Writ, to be issued in the name of Toris Salen of Great House Redoran. He maintains a manor here in Vivec City, in the Redoran Canton. The charges against him are written on the Writ; make sure he understands the gravity of his situation. Go forth and bring honour to Mephala.”

The gondolier ferried me over to the Redoran Canton and there, in the plaza, I quickly found Salen Manor. I decided that, since my business here was honourable (at least by local standards) that there was no need to make a scene. My knocking was answered by a House Retainer who, once he realised what I was, allowed me in with a great deal of haste. Toris was richly dressed and seemed to have no shortage of luxuries, which explained the message I was about to deliver.

“Who are you,” Toris snapped angrily as I stepped into his parlour, “and what are you doing here?”

He gasped as I slammed him against the wall, his hand reaching for the sword hung at his waist. Not giving him a chance to draw, I said, “Toris Salen, be advised that you are under threat of death for the act of embezzling funds from Great House Redoran. The Adepts of Mephala give you this warning: return the funds you stole or face execution at the hands of the Night-Mother’s Children. The Black Writ is written, in ten days it will become active. You have until the 20th day of Morning Star to make amends.

“You may run, many do. You may fight, some so choose,” I said in conclusion, “if you run, there is nowhere in the Grey Maybe that we will not find you. If you fight, you will lose, as do all those who defy the Adepts of Mephala. Ten days Toris Salen.” He squeaked as I drew the dagger from my waistband and drove it into the wooden frame of the door near his head ~ neatly pinning the Grey Writ in place.

“I should kill you where you stand,” Toris Salen said in a voice that betrayed his nervousness.

“Do so,” I said with a calmness I certainly didn’t feel, “for you know the penalty for that.” Indeed he did, for he went deathly pale at the threat. Not that it was a threat, Eno had explained. During the execution of a Black Writ, if the client (to use the Morag Tong’s wonderful phrase) manages to kill the Adept then there is no comeback on him ~ the Writ simply gets passed to another assassin. However, the issuance of a Grey Writ is a different matter. Kill an Adept delivering a Grey Writ and you face immediate retaliation directed at you, your family, friends, and ~ sometimes ~ people you know well enough to greet in the street.

My next stop was Tel Aruhn where the House Guards were only too eager to tell me about Odaishah Yasalmibaal. “A renegade Ashlander,” they said, echoing Eno Hlaalu. “We were trading with the Zainab until he appeared on the scene, now our merchants are attacked and robbed. We’ve tried to track him down Arch-Magister but haven’t located his camp.”

“If retribution cannot come to the bandit,” I said, “then the bandit should come to his own retribution. Prepare me a merchant’s pack and a Guar; have them ready within the hour. Tell anyone who asks that a merchant is travelling to the Zainab camp bearing a load of expensive trade goods. Do not, under any circumstances, let it be known that it is me who is going to be posing as a merchant.”

The guards were most efficient, they smuggled me into the Tradehouse where Ferele Athram had a travelling merchant’s pack for me, along with one of his pack-Guars. Donning a hooded robe and pulling a cloth across my face in the manner of the Ashlanders, I checked my equipment before setting off to the docks. The ship’s master helped me load the skittish Guar aboard the skiff that was going to ferry me across the bay to the Island, in slightly less than an hour we were under way.

My assumption was that Yasalmibaal had an informant in Tel Aruhn and that they were using some form of scrying magic to keep in contact with each other. My hope was that a fully laden merchant would prove an irresistible target for the Ashlander bandit. As I loaded the Guar, cursing its ancestry in colourful terms, I hoped that I was correct. Having finally loaded and prepared my pack, I looped the Guar’s reins around my left hand and set off. We hadn’t been travelling for more than half-an-hour when there was a whooping sound and a well-armoured figure bounded down the side of the hill.

“Your goods or your life,” the figure said in a heavy Ashlander accent.

“My goods you may gladly have,” I replied, the heavy Dwemeri dart slipping from the strap around my wrist and falling into my palm. “But it is your life that is at stake here Odaishah Yasalmibaal.”

“How did you…” he began. Before he could complete the sentence, the Dwemeri dart was in flight. The cunningly designed weapon slammed into his leather armour, the cutting edges slicing through the tough material with ease. As the shock-spell exploded in a cloud of chaotic fury around the Ashlander, I drew the Black-Hand dagger from my belt. Straddling the supine form, I drove the dagger deep into his chest.

My return to Tel Vahl was somewhat muted. I had so much to consider that I barely knew where to begin.