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

[Aki]

Very cool. :goodjob:

[Wolfie]

Sweet.

[minque]

[quote=LoneWolf]Sweet.[/quote] EEEEK.......I´d say wonderfully scaaaary, but nevertheless an outstanding story..

[Wolfie]

Whatever works for you lol

[OverrideB1]

As you can imagine, my sleep was an uneasy thing, filled with dreams of Hassour. While most revolved around the tentacle-faced creature the cultist had referred to as Dagoth Favon, more than a few were filled with the cultist’s face. What puzzled me was the sheer elemental power of the Man’s magic. Yet, as far as I’d been able to see, he bore none of the taint of the other creatures: which made his puissance all the more puzzling. Finally, as the thin light of dawn filtered through the windows, I threw back the covers and dressed.

“I cannot discuss such a matter Sed Vahl,” Tuls Valen insisted the second time I asked him about the creatures in Hassour’s caverns. “While the Temple is most grateful that you have cleansed the taint of those filth from the caves, and has rewarded you accordingly, details of that dark cult are reserved for the Temple’s uppermost hierarchy.” I persisted in my questions and, finally, he made an admission. “Sed Vahl, I’d answer your questions if I could. I am but a humble Proctor and, as such, am not privy to the decisions of the Patriarch and his advisors.

“I regret that we have no additional duties for you at the moment,” he said, clearly changing the subject to one he was more comfortable with. “I suggest you speak with the Proctors at the Ghostgate, or in Vivec City for additional duties. May the grace of ALMSIVI go with you.”

With that, he turned and vanished into the interior of the Temple, obviously either my tale or my questions had upset him greatly. With a sigh, I sat and looked at the handful of scrolls I’d been given. I didn’t wish to return to the Ghostgate, to do so would entail Uvoo Llaren asking awkward questions about when I intended to go up Red Mountain and get that cleaver. The last time I’d spoken to Endryn Llethan he’d been very clear that any duties he had were not for someone of my rank. That left just one possible option.

“Ah, I’m glad you came Sed Vahl,” Tharer Rotheloth said when I stepped into the Temple building in Molag Mar. “I heard that you had a few problems and had to visit the mainland for a while. Tell me, is the Temple in Mournhold as magnificent as they say it is?” I assured him that, whatever he’d heard, the Mournhold Temple surpassed all tales. He sighed, and I’m sure I heard him murmur “one day”.

“I’m glad you got the chance to travel there,” he said wistfully, “despite the, erm, unpleasant circumstances. But I’m much happier that you are here. You see word has reached us of a vampiric infestation at a Dwemer ruin called Galom Daeus. We… why do you laugh, Sed Vahl?”

“If you are referring to the Clan Berne of Galom Daeus,” I said, “I can assure you that they, and their Master, are so much extra dust on the floor.” He looked sceptical so, avoiding any details of why I was there, or what I discovered, I told him the harrowing tale of the cleansing of Galom Daeus.

“So you have a stronghold in the area known as Uvirith’s Grave, eh?” he said pensively. “I had no idea the Telvanni were interested in that region. Still,” he added, brightening up considerably, “the fact you’ve rid the area of the taint of the undead is good news. You know that the Temple has a special honour and reward for those that have shrived a vampire lair?”

I admitted that I didn’t know that. He smiled and vanished into his office, returning a few moments later with a heavy chest. Setting on the table, he unfastened the padlock and lifted the lid. “It’s been a while since these were given out,” he said, coughing slightly at the dust that arose from the interior. “But these are well deserved: Vahl the Vampire-Slayer.” From the depths of the chest, he fetched three wrapped items. The first was a massive hammer, with intricate designs in gold and an unfamiliar green stone adorning the shaft. The second was a buckler, made of gold-rimmed Ebony. Lastly there was a ring, silver and again inlaid with the same pale green stone as the hammer. “Please accept The Warden’s ring: may it prevent your enemies from casting enchantments upon themselves. May the Saint’s Shield nourish you in combat and lighten your load at need, and may the Hammer of Veloth’s Judgement bring the Temple’s justice to her foes.”

Since the cleansing of Galom Daeus was the only thing that Tharer had for me to do, I took my leave and returned to Tel Vahl. There had been much work done in my absence. Both the northern and southern watchtowers were now complete, and the foundations for two more had been dug ~ one to the east and one to the west. The barracks were now complete and it seems that Kallin Basalius had persuaded the architect to design a wall that ran from the barracks to the southern watchtower. Made of wood, it had a walkway on the inside that allowed my guards to patrol along it. Obviously, the lesson imparted by the Dark Brotherhood assassin had been taken very much to heart and the area around my Tel was now strongly guarded to ensure that there would be no repetition.

[Wolfie]

Cool. I wish my telvanni stronghold was like that

[minque]

"Vahl the Vampire Slayer"...or was it Buffy? oh aye an excellent addition here, the humour of that lassie is great!

what we really need now is....PICTURES!

[jonajosa]

:goodjob:

[OverrideB1]

This morning found me back in Ebonheart: a thought had occurred to me late last night. If anyone would know what happened to ‘The Muzariah’, it will be the shipmasters that ply their trade out of the docks. My guess had been right, although it took a bribe of three hundred Septims before the Master of the ‘Chun-Ook’ would give me any information.

“Aye Muthsera,” he said, spitting over the handrail, “I know of the Muzariah. She sailed about a ten-day ago, bound for the Mainland ~ heading for Darvon’s Watch. But you ain’t the first to be asking about the Muzariah Muthsera, no you ain’t.”

“Well,” he said, when I pressed him for details. “It were about an hour or so after she’d sailed that these two Imperials come around, asking after her. When they found out she’d already sailed, they put to sea in a hurry. Fancy I saw the lights of some bigger ship out there too, maybe what they was heading for. Bigger ship, if that’s what it was, set off at a hurry for the southwest point.” He spat again. “All I can tell you.” Then, in a voice raised little over a whisper, he added, “I’m afeared that they might have had somewhat to do with the Muzariah not arriving.”

Thanking him for the information, I left Ebonheart and headed towards the promontory of land he’d mentioned. After walking for a little while, I came to the spur of land. A little way out lay the wreck of a ship ~ could this be the Muzariah? As I water-walked closer, I noticed that several of the pieces of flotsam were charred, as though they’d been in a fire. Yet, as I drew close enough to make out the legend MUZARIAH painted on the back of the vessel, I could see no visible evidence of a shipboard fire.

There were no survivors aboard the badly listing vessel, and I made my way carefully along the sloping deck and into the captain’s cabin. Although there was no body, there was plenty of evidence of a fight ~ small areas of spattered blood had dried to a dull maroon colour on the weathered deck. From the scattered papers, it was obvious that the cabin had been searched and searched thoroughly. I gathered the various parchments and scanned through them quickly. They were the shipping log and bills of lading. Quickly turning to the last entry headed “Almalexia”, I scanned down the list until I found an entry: ‘3 crates, mechanical parts, Ederen Albrege, Craftsman’s Hall, Mournhold’.

Oddly, I couldn’t find the bill of lading for that particular consignment ~ the reason for that worried me since the document would have Albrege’s address on it. Even more disconcerting was the thing I saw on the hook beside the cabin door. Just a simple thing, a heavy iron key marked ‘Cargo Hold’. Up to that point I had been pretty sure that pirates were involved ~ there are always rumours of them plying their craft across the Circle Sea. But the key to the hold was there, unmoved and untaken. Grabbing the key, I went up on deck and down into the crews’ quarters.

My consternation grew as I saw that the heavily barred and padlocked hatch down into the cargo hold was still… heavily barred and padlocked. Whoever had grounded the ship ~ for there was now no question that it had not been accidental ~ had been interested in one thing and one thing only: the location of Ederen Albrege. The lock clicked heavily as I turned the key, greased bars sliding easily aside to allow me into the ship’s hold.

Despite the awkward angle of the vessel, and the fact that the hold was partially flooded, it didn’t take me long to locate the three crates. One had split open, and heavy brass cogs and gears littered the wooden decking. Finding an empty crate, I quickly gathered the items and put them inside before hauling the crates topside and then, one at a time, moving them to dry land. And that was pretty much all I could do by myself. The crates were too heavy for me to carry ~ one at a time or all together ~ back to Ebonheart. I needed some other method of getting them there.

“You want to hire my skiff to do what?” Blatta Hateria said incredulously. I repeated what I’d said, that I wanted her to come with me and collect three crates from the wreck of the Muzariah and ferry them back to Ebonheart. “Well,” she said pensively, looking at the pile of coins I’d dropped in her hand, “I usually only do fishing trips but… Okay, just this once.”

Blatta proved to be an excellent captain, for all that she claimed to only do fishing trips. She certainly knew her way around the coastal waters and, in less than an hour, we were beached near the wreck and she was watching me haul the crates aboard. The journey back was much quicker since, as she explained, we were now tacking with the wind rather than against it. Not that such nautical gibberish meant that much to me. Three burly stevedores proved amenable to moving the crates up to the Grand Council Hall for a couple of Septims apiece and, after muttering something about excess baggage that I didn’t quite understand, Asciene Rane agreed to transport both the crates and me to Mournhold.

“You are a gods send,” Albrege gushed when I told him his crates were currently sitting in the Royal Palace. He quickly arranged for three of the apprentices to go and collect the crates, thus relieving me of the problem of finding porters to get them delivered. “Now,” he said, putting a thick volume down on the counter in front of me, “I think a clock would be the ideal reward. Perhaps something in a long-case, like this?” He showed me several designs, each more ornate than the last and came, after several exquisite designs to one that caught my eye.

“This one,” I said, pointing to it.

“Capital choice,” he said. “One of my finest designs. It sells for six thousand Septims ~ but I will give you a very substantial discount since you have, quite literally, saved my business. I’ve finished my last commission so this should be ready in, oh, four days?”

Four days sounded excellent to me, and I told Albrege that that would be fine. Even though the cost of the clock, even with the discount, was likely to be outrageous, I couldn’t resist the thought of having one in Tel Vahl.

“Excuse me Muthsera,” the Dunmer said as I stepped out of the Craftsman’s Hall, “but are you the Telvanni known as Sudhendra Vahl?”

[Wolfie]

cool. Sounds like one very ornate clock for that pricetag

[minque]

Ah a very interesting story here, all new to me, and yet quite familiar......oh do I like this....... :goodjob:

[OverrideB1]

[quote=LoneWolf]cool. Sounds like one very ornate clock for that pricetag [/quote]
It's pretty ornate and completely functional - as you can see from this picture:

http://photobucket.com/albums/v636/Overrid...rrent=Clock.jpg

[minque]

holy muffin....looks like my grandmother´s clock.......niiice

[Aki]

Very cool.

[Wolfie]

sweet!

[OverrideB1]

“That would depend,” I said, dropping my hand to the hilt of my sword, “on who was asking.”

“I come on behalf of Plitinius Mero,” the Dunmer said, taking a nervous step backwards. “He would like to meet with you in the palace courtyard, as soon as possible.” Message delivered, the courtier fled. Poor fellow, he was probably quite unaccustomed to grim-faced Dunmer threatening him. I would have to remember, I mused, that there were different rules here in Mournhold than on Vvardenfell.

“Ahh, you gave my friend quite the scare,” the smiling, grey-haired Man said as I approached him. “I am Plitinius Mero and I am, I’m afraid, quite unsure how to address you.”

“Sed Vahl, or Arch-Magister, are fine,” I said, grasping his outstretched hand and giving it a shake. “Why do you wish to see me?”

“Well, Sed Vahl,” he said, “it seems that King Helseth has learned that there is a plot to kill the clockmaker…”

“I feared as much,” I said, interrupting. I went on to explain the things I’d found aboard the Muzariah.

“Quite,” he said, looking at me with a quiet smile. “Well, perhaps a little background will help? Albrege is, as you know, a clockmaker. There are some among the adherents of Akatosh that hold he is defiling the Dragon’s realm by… well, their phrasing is ‘capturing the Dragon’s essence’. Now, while most members of the Akatosh cult are quite willing to let the Man be, there are certain zealots who’d like nothing more than to kill him. Those particular zealots were, King Helseth thinks, responsible for the wrecking of the Muzariah and are on their way here to kill Albrege. According to our… King Helseth’s sources, the attempt will be made tomorrow night.”

“And Helseth wishes me to protect the clockmaker?” I said with a sigh.

“Exactly,” Plitinius Mero said. “He feels that such an assassination would only reinforce the general belief that the Dunmer are a superstitious people, mired in the past.”

Ederen Albrege dismissed the whole thing as fantasy. “Nonsense,” he snapped. “I’m a simple artisan; the thought of anyone trying to kill me is… well, ridiculous.” And that was as much as he would discuss the matter with me. His wife, Sosille, was a different matter.

“Oh dear, not again,” she moaned when I told her that there was a possibility of an assassination attempt. She explained that was the reason that they’d left Cyrodiil City, the threats against her husband’s life had become so extreme that they’d moved as far away as they could get. She asked me what she could do, and I explained that I intended to be on hand and that I was going to try and foil the killers if I could. She looked a little sceptical, but agreed that she would let me stop in the Craftsman’s Hall on the morrow.

I spoke to a rather annoyed Bols Indalen about my boots. He confirmed that they’ be ready on the morrow. When I enquired as to the cause of his annoyance, he virtually exploded. “That damn’ fool Ilnori Faustus left this morning, took five hundred Septims from the cash box, several good bits of armour, a sword and just sodded off. If I get my hands on that thieving little…

“Ahem,” he said, recovering his composure. “Well, let’s just say that young Master Faustus won’t be welcome back here. Which leaves me with no apprentice. Say, you wouldn’t be interested would you?”

I assured him that, while his offer was extremely kind, I really had no interest in blacksmithing. “If I meet anyone who’s looking for a job I’ll make sure to send them to you,” I promised.

I returned to Godsreach and made my way to the Wing'd Guar, intending to take a meal and maybe a libation or two before returning to the Craftsman’s Hall. Just because the information said that the assassination attempt was scheduled for the morrow was no reason to take chances. As I approached, I was amused to see a Bosmer remonstrating with two Ordinators. Whatever reply he got from them obviously wasn’t the one he wanted and, when I got to the inn’s door, he was fair vibrating with indignation. “Stupid Nords,” he fumed as I went past. “Going around beating people up for no reason whatsoever. Shouldn’t be allowed. And those guards, they’re about as much use as a paper shield. Hey, Dark Elf…”

I tensed slightly at that. Everyone on Vvardenfell was careful not to use that particular name for the Dunmeri ~ well, everyone except the Imperials and those who’re being deliberately insulting ~ and I’d gotten used to it. Here on the mainland they seemed a little less careful. “What do you want… Wood Elf?” I responded, heavily stressing the words ‘wood’ and ‘elf’.

Now it was his turn to tense up and glare. He obviously decided we were about even in the insulting each other stakes and said, “there’s this big Nord in the Wing'd Guar. He beat me up for no reason whatsoever. If you take care of him, I’ll reward you handsomely.”

“’Take care of him’?” I spluttered. “What? Do I look like an assassin to you?”

“No, no, no you misunderstand,” he gasped, waving his hands in a gesture that was probably intended to make me calm down. “I want the big lummox humiliated, not killed.” I shrugged, telling High-Pockets that I’d see what I could do. Finding the big Nord wasn’t a problem; he was the one yelling something about ‘taking on anyone who fancied a wee fight’. I didn’t fancy a fight and told him so when he challenged me. I did offer to buy him a couple of drinks by way of recompense.

“I want you to put a measure of Cyrodiilic Brandy in the bottom of a mug,” I told the Suthay-Raht behind the counter. When the strong brown liquor had been poured, I told the barkeeper to add equal measures of Sujamma, Matze, Flinn, and that thick viscous Mead that the Nords are so fond of. Carrying the noxious brew back to the swaying Holmar, I presented it with my compliments.

“Yer health lassie,” the Nord said, raising the tankard and taking a massive swig of the contents. “Hmmm, no a bad drop of the creature,” he said. Raising the tankard again, he drank deeply, slamming the empty mug on the table. “That fair hit the spot… I…” a look of consternation appeared on the Nord’s face. A second later he belched, loudly enough to rattle the bottles on the shelves.

“No feelin’ so well,” he groaned, staggering to his feet. He stood there, swaying gently. Then, with all the impressiveness of a tree that’s just been felled, he toppled forward. With a crash he hit the floor, while High-Pockets danced gleefully.

“That was wonderful,” he said, clapping his hands. “Here, have this ring and purse of money. You deserve it.” With that, he turned and swaggered out of the inn.

The grinning barkeeper handed me a plate of food and a glass of Sujamma and I took my place at the table while I ate. Inns are really quite useful places, you can overhear all sorts of things if you’re quite and pay attention. Like the rumour going around that the Empire might recall the Legions to deal with civil unrest in Cyrodiil City. Or the fact that a merchant called ‘Ten-Tongues Weerhat’ offered surprisingly high discounts on potent scrolls and magical items. Having made careful note of the dividends of my eavesdropping, I left the inn and stood breathing the early afternoon air. There was quite a while left before my self-imposed vigil at the Craftsman's Hall was due to start, so I decided to have a look around the museum.

The museum proved to be very disappointing: they had only the one item on display. Although, I have to say, it was a very impressive item ~ a hammer allegedly belonging to Stendarr. According to the gilded plaque, it weighed over 1000 pounds ~ making it impossible for a mortal to wield in combat. The curator saw me admiring the hammer and came over to speak to me. “I’m pleased to see a visitor, we don’t get many,” she said.

“That might have something to do with the lack of things on display,” I said bluntly.

She laughed, apparently not offended by my comment. “That’s probably true,” she said. “We do have quite a large budget to buy items, but very few people seem to want to part with them. For instance, is that Veloth’s Hammer I see slung to the back of your pack?”

“It is,” I replied. “Make me an offer.” She looked at me, dumbstruck for a moment.

“Are you serious?” she asked, breathlessly. When I nodded, she fetched out a large purse and offered me five thousand Septims for the hammer. That certainly seemed a very good price to me, especially since I had no skill using such a weapon. With a handshake, we sealed the deal ~ she rushed off to put the hammer on display while I walked out a good deal richer than I had been when I walked in.

Taking a brief detour to drop the money into a securely locked chest in Velas Manor, I made my way back to the Craftsman’s Hall and settled down in a seat by the door. Even though I managed to stay awake for most of the night ~ falling into the occasional fitful doze ~ nothing, and lots of it, happened.

[minque]

Nice handling of Holmar the Nord... as always a joy to read ...... :goodjob:

*leaning back in the sofa and wait for more*

[jonajosa]

again i am at loss for words. so.... here

:goodjob: :goodjob: :goodjob:

[OverrideB1]

By the time I returned to Velas manor, it was so late, it was early. There had been no assassination attempt on the Albreges overnight: and I was unsure whether that was a good thing or not. It might mean that there was no assassination attempt planned and that the whole situation was merely the result of deep-seated paranoia. On the other hand, the quiet night might simply mean that the information passed to me by Mero was extremely accurate. And that was an uncomfortable thought ~ if Helseth had access to information of that degree of sensitivity from Cyrodiil, then he had an enviable network of spies. It was with these, and other less coherent, thoughts whirling around in my head that I fell into bed.

Hunger drove me from my bed in the early afternoon, and I made my way over to the Wing'd Guar to grab a bite or two to eat. After that, I lounged about until it was time to make my way over to the Craftsman's Hall. As I had the previous night, I took a seat close to the entrance and waited. And waited. And then waited some more.

Just as I was about to write the whole thing off as a waste of time, I heard the furtive rattle of the door-handles. Larrius Varro’s ring would have a chance to prove its worth ~ slipping it onto my finger, I concentrated on the slowly coiling magical construct in my mind, feeding it the power it needed. When I opened my eyes, it was to a world gone grey and shadowy. I watched as the main doors to the Craftsman’s Hall swung open and three robed figures crept in.

As the third of them passed, I stepped behind him and, grapping his head, I pulled it back so I could run the razor-sharp edge of my dagger along his throat. Clamping my hand over his mouth as he threshed and struggled, I held him tightly until he struggled no more. The other two zealots were standing there aghast, watching their compatriot fighting against thin air as his life’s blood gushed out of the gaping wound I’d inflicted. By the time they’d realised what was going on, I’d dropped the first zealot and moved away from the body.

“There,” one of them hissed, pointing towards me. His associate rushed forward, the glint of a dagger in his right hand. I twisted to one side, taking several quick steps away from where I’d been as the would-be assassin slashed at the now vacant space.

“Where?” he called to his companion. The taller assassin, eyes narrowed, scanned the area around himself. Again, despite the cloaking-spell, he pointed directly at me. I was confused as I darted out of the way of the shorter zealot’s probing blade ~ how did he keep seeing me? Then I realised and, with a grin that would have terrified them if they’d been able to see it, I stepped into the shadow of one of the central pillars.

As the two zealots cast around, looking for me, I concentrated on the ring and allowed the construct to refresh itself. Then, using the silent method that Aryon had taught me, I built the towering structure of the summon Atronach spell and fed that enough power. Shadows shifted and rippled and the zealots found themselves facing an extremely irate Storm Atronach. As it turned and raised craggy fists, I slipped from the shadows and headed towards the entrance to Albrege’s store.

The fourth zealot, who had managed to slip in somewhere upstairs, never stood a chance. As he knelt, carefully picking the lock, I drove the dagger down into the nape of his neck. As he trashed and jerked in a most satisfying manner, something whizzed past my head and thumped against the wall. Yanking the dagger free, I span to meet this new threat. For a wonder, I didn’t throw up: the Atronach was merrily beating one of the zealots to death with the mangled and headless stump of his companion. I have noticed that the more scared or angry that I am, the more vicious the Summons that I summon are.

While muttering guards hauled the mangled and broken corpses out of the Craftsman's Hall, a very relieved Ederen Albrege was thanking me. “I didn’t believe that they’d go so far,” he said. “I thought that, if I went far enough away from them, they wouldn’t bother with me any more.

“I owe you a debt of gratitude Sudhendra,” he said, “one I shall not forget. As a token of my appreciation, please accept this small gift.” The small gift was a Lantern Clock, a small and beautifully engraved contrivance of scented wood, gold leaf, and translucent crystal. Thanking him, I carried this little treasure back to Velas manor and placed it where I could see it each morning as I awoke.

[Wolfie]

cool. Hehe the Atronach mangled him