The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Part 3 Options

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Yestere had been extremely profitable for me, as I had pretty much spent the day practising various spells, summoning, and combat techniques, not to mention a little alchemy. While there was no chance I was ever going to be partaking of the three greasy and foul-smelling concoctions I’d produced as a result of my experiments ~ the other training had been extremely beneficial albeit tiring. So, it was with more than a little impatience that I responded to the hammering on the front door that awoke me this morning. I was just about to address the young individual with the appropriate venom when he thrust a parchment into my hand, saying, “Muthsera Hleran sends her compliments.”

The note was brief and to the point:

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“The first stage of your stronghold is complete. Please contact me at your convenience to discuss further development.”

Even though I knew that, at this stage, my stronghold wouldn’t be inhabitable, it was excellent news indeed. Dressing quickly, I spoke the words of the translocation spell and found myself in Sadrith Mora. Making my way into the oddly lit cavern, I listened to what Llunela had to say to me.

“I’m glad you came Muthsera Vahl,” she said. “The initial phase of growth is now complete. However, your tower still needs to grow more and it will need to be shaped. Traditionally, a skilled Tekton does this but, regrettably, the current expansion on the mainland means that they are all very busy there. We could leave the tower to grow wild ~ which rarely results in anything useable.

“But, when traditional means are unavailable, we have to make do with something else. It is said that the Dwemer had an artefact that could shape materials using sound. The book I read, by an Imperial named Hevou Thath, said that he’d seen designs for one such artefact in the Dwemer ruins of Mzanchend. I need you to travel there and locate these drawings, if they’re still there.”

Conveniently enough, the ruins I need are quite close to Uvirith’s Grave: so travelling there was my first priority. I followed pretty much the same route as before and soon came to the twisted knot of roots and branches that would form the basis of my tower. They had grown considerably since the last time, now being something like twice the height of a Mer. The environs, unfortunately, hadn’t improved any: the dust still lay thick on the ground and blew up in choking clouds at the slightest breeze. There was one change, however: and not a pleasant one. At the edge of the raised area of land upon which stood the hillock my tower was growing on was a campfire. Advancing cautiously, I made my way towards it.

“Greetings,” the armoured woman standing by the fire said, “what brings you to this gods forsaken plot of land?”

“This land is mine,” I replied somewhat sharply, “as is yonder tower. What brings you to my property?”

“Ahh well,” she said, raising the visor of her steel helm and looking at me. “Firstly, my apologies for any offence Telvanni. I have a tendency to speak jocularly when, maybe, I shouldn’t. As to what I am doing here, it’s complicated.”

“So, uncomplicated it,” I demanded. She grinned wryly.

“At your command. My being here serves a two-fold purpose. The first is that I am a researcher: and what I am researching is the life and times of the Mage Uvirith. Where you aware that this is the very spot his body was discovered in?” I shook my head, although given that the area was named Uvirith’s Grave, I wasn’t overly surprised. “Yes,” she continued, “and a very odd death he seems to have died too. He vanished from the Guild over in Balmora and, eventually, they became concerned enough to mount an expedition to locate him.

“After searching for many days, they found his corpse somewhere around here. It seems that he fell from a great height ~ with the inevitable consequences. Which is strange, because he was an accomplished mage and knew spells of levitation and slow-fall. Even odder was the length of frayed rope tied around his waist ~ what it was tied to at the other end, nobody knows.”

“All very interesting,” I interrupted, “but not really telling me why you are here.”

“Well,” she said, flushing slightly, “his staff was never found, although they scoured the area. It was, and probably still is, a very powerful piece of magical equipment. I had hoped to find some trace of it. The other thing is, recently I came into possession of a book of his that suggests he was looking for something very special ~ and may even have found it.”

“And what would that be?” I asked. She mumbled something quickly and quietly that I didn’t catch.

“A flying Dwemer fortress,” she snapped when I asked her to repeat what she’d said. I laughed until the tears ran down my cheeks while she stood there glowering at me.

“I’m sorry,” I finally managed to splutter. “Are you telling me that you actually believe those children’s’ stories about a big flying castle that swoops down and rewards good children come New Life Eve?”

“Not in the slightest…” she started to say, then stopped and looked at me. “Perhaps,” she amended, “I’ve found that there’s often a grain of truth in even the most fanciful tales. But I’ve spent many years chasing those grains of truth and rarely found anything. Which means that I’ve spent a lot of money and have little to show for it…”

“Which brings you to the second reason you’re here?” I suggested warily.

“I have heard,” she said carefully, “that Telvanni Mage-Lords hire mercenaries and was wondering…”

“Well, I’m no Mage-Lord,” I replied “and have no need of mercenaries at the moment.”

“I’m willing to wait,” she replied. I nodded thoughtfully. I hadn’t really given any thought to the protection of my tower and, given my ambitious plans for my self, I really should. If I rose much higher than my current rank of Spellwright, I could expect the unwelcome attentions of the lower ranking Telvanni who wanted my position. A few mercenaries wouldn’t go amiss.

“I’d be willing to consider you for the position,” I said. “But I need to know that you’re trustworthy. No offence, but you could be here to gain a position with me and use that position to a rival’s advantage. Here’s a couple of hundred Septims as a retainer. Keep your eyes peeled,” I said as I handed over the money, “and when I come back I shall expect a report from you.”

Leaving Kallin Basalius to her assigned task, I followed Llunela’s directions until I found myself at the ruins of Mzanchend. The ruins were only small, much of what had existed was lost behind a massive cave-in, but they did boast a small array of those spider-type animalcules. Having filled a collection pouch with a small number of rubies and diamonds, I finally found what I hoped I was looking for ~ a small sheet of the strange material the Dwemer used for writing and drawing on, covered in bizarre symbols and lines.

There was one other interesting feature in Mzanchend. Opposite the main entrance there was a flight of stairs leading down to a small corridor. At the end was a massive Dwemer door ~ the ornate engraved kind rather than the simple iron doors that you usually find in a ruin. What made this door particularly interesting was the lock that sealed it. It was not a Dwemeric lock; rather it bore the ornate style of local manufacture. Whoever had placed the lock had seriously intended to keep people from whatever was behind the door: no amount of examination or magic seemed to make the slightest difference; it simply would not be opened.

With a resigned shrug, I left the intriguing lock (I admit, its presence there had piqued my interest) and made my way back to Sadrith Mora. There Llunela Hleran had something of a shock for me. She’d been studying the drawing I’d brought back for a while before she spoke to me.

“This device can be made: I have enough knowledge to make it myself. However it can only be used once and it’s going to cost five thousand Septims to produce.”

“Five Thousand!” I exclaimed.

“I’m afraid so,” she replied. “Some of the materials are going to be very difficult to obtain, and there’s a lot of work that needs to be done. It will take me a day, or two, to create this object but once it is done, your tower should be ready fairly quickly.”

It was with a heavy heart that I handed over the money, five thousand Septims represented almost every Drake I had accumulated since arriving here, save the money safely tucked away in the Bank of Vvardenfell. It was with a much lighter purse that I returned to Balmora ~ on the morrow I would have to see what could be done about replenishing my funds.

[jonajosa]

Good details with stronghold construction. I am going to have to study this when I write the town scenes in my story.

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My plans for today were simple: pick an area on the island I’d never been to before and explore it for ruins, caves, or mines that could provide me with something to sell to get some more money. I’d never had much clink before coming to the island and had become accustomed to carrying a fair amount of coinage and buying those little things that make life so pleasant. Like food and water. I managed to sell the rubies and diamonds I’d collected yestere to Nelcarya but didn’t get anything near what they were worth. Still, I had a couple of thousand now and a plan.

“Ex hic absum, ut Ald’ruhn,” I chanted, and then found myself in the dusty square that forms the heart of Ald’ruhn. I ventured into the Mage Guild (where my reception was every bit as frosty as I expected it to be) and sought out Mrania. “I want a translocation spell that’ll take me somewhere off the beaten track,” I told her.

“Dagon Fel,” she replied without hesitation. “It’s a small Nordic outpost at the extreme north of the island. Apart from the town and a few Dwarven ruins, there’s not a lot up there except wild country.”

That sounded ideal, and I purchased the necessary spell: leaving myself in a worse financial situation than I’d been when I awoke. Another of life’s little jests. Speaking the now familiar words, I took myself off up to this Dagon Fel place. Imagine a slightly larger, much poorer Seyda Neen: then add an air of damp, cold squalor instead of the warm, fetid squalor. That pretty much sums up Dagon Fel. A massive Inn dominated the small collection of wooden huts that formed the town, the huts clustered around the sizeable docks that formed the focal point of the town. There was no ship at dock, but there were a large number of fishing vessels bobbing up and down on the waves out in the bay.

Much more interesting were the ruins that poked above the high hills that surrounded the town. Massive Dwemer towers, I could see two ~ no, three of them from where I stood.

“Aye lass,” one of the locals said when I asked him. “There’s plenty o’ Dwarven ruins tae be found up here. Them and fish. Pretty much all we got going for ourselves. Mind, there’s plenty o’ legionnaires up here as will take a dim view o’ ye going in and just taking stuff.”

Well, that seemed to mean that the ruins up here were pretty much off limits or, at least, those close to town. With a shrug, I settled my pack on my shoulder and set off in a northerly direction along the road out of town. I’d barely been walking an hour when I realised exactly what Mrania had meant when she’d spoken of ‘wild country’.

Massive craggy peaks rose up on both sides of the track I was on, their sides bare of any vegetation and glistening coldly in the damp air. Every so often, the path would wander into a small hilly area and there the path would split off in half-a-dozen different directions. Since these tracks were not signposted and there was no other centre of population on this small landmass, I was reduced to picking a direction and heading off. Since all of the canyons looked very similar, I was soon quite lost.

To make matters worse, it started to rain. Not the soft gentle rain that I’d encountered in West Gash or the Ascadian Isles, nor even the heavy rain of my childhood in Hammerfell. No, this was a curtain of water that came hurtling out of the sky accompanied by the low grumble of thunder. Tip your head back and open your mouth; you could drown in rain like this. I stumbled over rock made suddenly slick with water, cursing and spluttering in the rapidly reducing light. A titanic boom split the gathering gloom as huge sheets of lightning tore the day apart. There, a little way in front of me was a familiar shape.

Slamming the door of the tomb shut behind me, I shivered as the water dripped off me. Not even the heavy stone surrounding me could muffle the thunder’s rumblings, but at least I was somewhere dry. My pack had kept the contents dry, at least I had that to be thankful for, and I quickly changed into a dry robe. Tying back my hair, I took a look around me. Typically, there was a flight of stone steps leading down to a wooden door. Hopefully the tomb would be uninhabited by spectres, or worse, and I could find an area inside where I could light a fire. However, prudence made me draw my axe before venturing down the stairs.

It’s hard to say who was more surprised: the five lesser vampires who’d made this sepulchre their lair, or me. Actually, that’s not true, the way my luck had been running of late, I was completely unsurprised. Five at once was far too many for me to deal with and I slammed the door on their astonished looks and legged it up the stairs as quickly as I could. Even as the lower door banged open behind me, I grabbed my pack and tore open the main entrance ~ I fancied I could feel hot breath on my neck as I raced out into the rain. I had, many days ago, resolved to be much more aggressive but fate’s games with my destiny obviously hadn’t finished. When faced with a quintet of hungry leeches, running away is sometimes the only viable option.

Ignoring their jeers as they cowered from the daylight in the arch of the tomb, I made a rude gesture in their direction and set off through the rain. I needed to put as much distance between the burial place and me as possible ~ I didn’t fancy being on tonight’s menu. Head down, soaked to the skin, I plodded on through the never-ending rain, taking random turns along the path as I headed roughly east.

So it was, sometime after the midday hour that I came to a small cavern. Come Oblivion or high water, I intended to use it as shelter until the rain had let up a little. The slavers who’d made the cavern their home were less than enthusiastic about the idea but a combination of steel, magic and a very aggressive Atronach soon solved that problem. The three Suthay-Raht and the very ill looking Argonian were delighted when I set them free, and insisted on gathering the slaver’s spoils for me and assisting me in the preparation of a meal.

Slavery might be legal in Morrowind Province but there was no way I was going to leave these poor souls chained to the back of a cave to await their fate ~ especially as that fate was probably starvation. Two of the Khajiiti and the Argonian took their leave after helping me prepare and eat a meal, but one of the Khajiiti remained with me for a while.

“Dark Elf not like other Telvanni,” Ri'Dumiwa said, peering at me. “You set Ri'Dumiwa free, why you do this?” Wearily I explained why I had, that I disliked the idea of slavery in general and that ~ even if I was well disposed towards the idea, I couldn’t be responsible for the death of any number of slaves by starvation.

“Ri'Dumiwa not forget this, Dark Elf,” it said, rising to its feet. “Ri'Dumiwa remember Telvanni name.” With that enigmatic comment, it silently padded off out of the cave. I shrugged and huddled closer to the fire, feeling the chill in my bones abating as the warmth of the flames wrapped around me.

I awoke with a start, my axe had slipped from my grasp and the metallic clatter had awoken me from my brief nap. Stretching, I rose to my feet and looked around. I felt much better for my sleep and, once again, oddly invigorated. I put out the fire and sifted through the pile of spoils the slaves had gathered for me. Much of it wasn’t of any use but I did take a number of scrolls, some throwing stars and three hundred and fifty Septims.

I was surprised when I stepped out of the caves, night had fallen and the rain had stopped ~ overhead, the stars twinkled in a clear sky. Obviously my nap had been much less brief than I thought it had. I remembered a very comfortable looking hammock in the caverns that would prove ideal for the night.

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Much of this day was spent clambering over rocks and sliding down steep inclines as I tried to make my way back towards the dump known as Dagon Fel. The inevitable Cliff-racers may have learned a few new swearwords, as I was fairly prolific in letting my displeasure of this benighted wilderness be known.

I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way because the path I was following curved down and around to a small rocky outcrop that blocked the way. Obviously I hadn’t come this way. Backtracking, I followed the track back to the crossroads and then headed eastwards and then south at the next crossroads. This track led down to a nice seclude cove. I resolved to give it one more try and, if I couldn’t get myself back to Dagon Fel by mundane means, I’d translocated there.

I had spent much of yestere and this morning railing against the games fate plays with the lives of Man and Mer. Whatever power dabbles in the life of insignificant Dunmer rogues hadn’t finished playing with me ~ only in whatever game it played it must have rolled a six. As I trudged along the westward track I came upon a door set into the side of a cliff. A splintered sign hung askew over the weathered portal and, through the moss and grime I could make out the characters P..ai

With trembling fingers, I pushed open the door and was greeting by the warm, fusty smell of an egg-mine. Shaking myself, I reminded myself that the story was just that… a story. Still, an egg-mine, long abandoned, with a name that might have been Pudai? It would have taken someone of much stronger character not to be excited by the possibilities. Carefully avoiding the egg sacs on the floor and stepping around the Foragers and Workers, I made my way deeper and deeper into the mine.

The Queens chamber was guarded by a couple of Kwama Warriors but my trusty axe soon made very short work of them. At the back of the chamber lay seven objects and I could only shake my head in wonder. No egg sacs these, they were large and shaped like an egg. But no egg I’d ever seen glistened with the mellow tones of gold as these did. They were incredibly heavy and the weight of them convinced me that this was no delusion or fever dream ~ this was real. I resolved, right there and then, that I’d never scoff at an old tale again.

“Lassie!” Hrundi beamed, “’Tis fair to see your face again, I was a feared you’d left us for good, you bein’ a Telvanni an’ all now. Aye,” he continued with a smile, “even here in our wee hovel we get a smattering o’ news now an again. So, what is it that brings ye here?”

Wordlessly I placed my bulging pack on the table between us and fetched out the seven eggs I’d recovered from the Pudai mines. When I placed the first on the table, I thought his eyes were going to drop out, when he saw all seven he went quite pale.

“Ye’re having a wee jest aren’t you lassie,” he said looking me in the eye. “Tryin’ to fool old Hrundi wi’ some Telvanni magic?”

“Feel one,” I said, rolling an egg towards him. “Pick it up and tell me it’s not real.”

Hrundi gasped as he picked up an egg, feeling the solid reality of all that gold in one place. Carefully, almost reverently, he put it back on the table. “I believe ye lassie,” he breathed. “Ye never played me false afore. Ye have tae tell me, where in all o’ the world did ye find them?”

“Aye,” he admitted when I just smiled at him. “Perhaps it’s all for the best ye dinnae tell me. ‘Tis yer reward you’ll be wanting I figure?” With that he walked over to a heavy chest resting near the back wall and unlocked it. From its depths he withdrew ten bulking leather pouches and carried them, two at a time, over to the table. “Do you want tae count it?”

“You’ve never played me false before Hrundi,” I countered, earning a beaming smile from the Nord.

“Ach,” he muttered blushing red. “Well, anyway, there’s one o’ your lot that’ll be pleased to get those. I’ve nothing else for ye at the moment, excepting a wee promotion. Congratulations Defender Vahl.”

I staggered under the weight: the seven eggs had been quite heavy but they were nothing compared to the ten sacks of coins I now carried out of Wolverine Hall and down to the Bank of Vvardenfell. I deposited half of it into my account and converted half of what was left into a letter of credit. Having done that, I returned to Balmora, where I sold off my spare weapons, ingredients, and books before returning to Dura gra-Bol’s house for some well deserved rest.

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I hadn’t forgotten my promise to the Duke and it was one I intended to honour fully ~ as much for my own benefit as for anyone who might settle around my tower. When I’d visited last, I had spotted a couple of likely bandit hideouts and I fully intended to make sure that they weren’t being used for that purpose. Translocating myself to Sadrith Mora, I made my way to Uvirith's Grave. I was surprised, and secretly quite pleased to find Kallin Basalius still camped near my stronghold.

“There is a group of bandits nearby,” she reported, “I tracked them back to their hideout here…” she pointed to the map that was spread out between us. “There’s also something quite odd going on over here…” now she circled another nearby area on the map. “I swear I saw several soldiers marching through there yestere but, when I went to investigate, I could find nothing.”

Nodding approvingly, I gave her the pack of provender I’d brought in the hopes that she’d still be here and another couple of hundred Septims. “I’d like you to stay another few days if you’re determined to serve as a mercenary for me, sort of keep an eye on the place a bit more.”

“I can do that, boss,” she said with a grin. I grinned back: her enthusiasm was certainly infectious. I decided here and then that I trusted her ~ almost trusted her, and would start by investigating the bandits she said she’d seen a little way off to the west. Following the lay of the land, I rounded the large ash-mound that lay near my stronghold and followed the path south to the little canyon Kallin had indicated. As I crouched behind some rocks and stared into the short valley, it occurred to me that the route to Zenerbael was ideal territory for an ambush. This would, as they say, be the conclusive proof of Basalius’ loyalty and veracity.

I called the summoning spell to mind and held it ready (just in case) and made my way down the rock-strewn path towards the weathered door. Arriving there unmolested, I felt a little more relaxed about following Basalius’ advice. The door, unlocked and unwarded, swung open ~ the silence with which it did so belying it’s apparent unused state.

The torches lit the dark rock walls of the downward sloping passageway, revealing a bored looking Dunmeri woman slouched against a rocky outcrop. Her eyes widened but any cry of alarm she intended to make died stillborn in her throat. That might have had something to do with the red-feathered iron arrow that suddenly blocked it and ended her life in a gush of dark blood. I licked my lips nervously, once more a lucky shot had saved my hide but I wasn’t too sure how often I could rely on such luck.

There were two more bandits in the cavern, but sneaking up on them was impossible. The entranceway led to a ledge, from which a wooden walkway descended into a large area, passing over a deep pool as it did so. Anyone standing on the walkway, or even the ledge, was horribly exposed ~ as I quickly found out. Screaming obscenities, the Dunmer who was patrolling the lower chamber drew a short, vicious looking sword and rushed at me. Fortunately, as I was at a greater elevation than him, I had a distinct advantage.

Right up until the moment the third Dunmer heard the clash of steel on steel and came rushing from another chamber to add his blade to the fray. I was hard pressed, I don’t mind admitting, and fought back furiously. Slowly and inexorably I was being driven back up the ramp since they both had room to stand side-by-side and attack me. A glancing blow opened a gash on my arm as I parried a blow. This wasn’t going perfectly. It is just as well, then, that a Telvanni rarely fights alone.

“Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata” I chanted. Strange shadows and shapes rippled across the bare rock of the tunnel wall, finally resolving into the form of an Atronach. Between us we made fairly short work of the two Dunmer bandits. A thorough exploration of their hideout revealed that they had not been particularly successful bandits ~ although I did find a Thread and a couple of very nice shard weapons.

There was, as Kallin had said, something odd about the little canyon a way to the south of Zenerbael. A strange feeling of ‘there’s nothing to see here, look away’ permeated the valley. I watched a young Kagouti wander out of the valley and start munching on the prickly thorns of a nearby bush. And then it struck me ~ the valley floor was thick with the ash-dust that blankets this whole region and I had just seen a fairly hefty creature walk out of it. Where, then, were the Kagouti’s footprints?

Standing just inside the two boulders that marked the entrance to the canyon, I extended a hand and visualised the shape of the magic I wanted to cast. When it was complete in my mind, I spoke the words, “Ostendo sum”. There was a rippling in the air and, when it cleared, the little valley stretched in front of me.

Except that there was now a mass of footprints on the dusty ground ~ and many of them were not Kagouti: unless you know many that wear boots. Moreover, what had been a blank rock wall at the end of this canyon now sported a door. Some powerful magic was in place here, I thought as the scene returned to its former tranquillity. Moving carefully, hands outstretched, I walked down the valley until I could feel wood under my fingers. The door wasn’t locked, but did open with a creaking sound that made me freeze in place. When nothing happened, I slid my way inside.

The dark rock walls were lit from a light-source deeper in the cavern but there was nobody about. Carefully drawing my sword so as not to make a sound, I snuck further down the corridor. There was an odd warping in front of my eyes as a patch of thin air suddenly became the shape of a Bonemold armoured knight, the crash of his blade against my arm denting and cracking the chitin armour and throwing me forcefully against the rough stone walls.

I rolled out of the way as the heavy blade struck sparks from the spot where my head had been a few seconds before. Lashing out with my foot, I managed to strike the armoured warrior on the knee: eliciting a grunt of pain and forcing him a step or two back. That gave me just enough time to grab my fallen blade and scramble to my feet. My left arm ached abominably and there was an uncomfortable wetness under the armour that boded ill. We circled each other warily, seeking an opening. Silently, deep beneath the black rock, we fought ~ thrust and parry exchanged at speeds that stretched the limit of my abilities. After moments that stretched like hours, we stood apart panting as we glared at each other. He had scored another good hit on me, once more damaging my left arm so that the blood flowed freely. I had managed to crack his shield, and he was nursing a nasty cut that ran from just below his right eye to the corner of his mouth.

Spitting blood from his mouth, the knight grinned ferally at me, he now had the measure of me and knew he outclassed me. Dropping his shield, he lunged at me and I managed ~ barely ~ to avoid his thrust. Knowing that his greater reach and longer sword were a major threat, I closed the distance between us and threw myself into the fight. We grappled and slashed at each other until, with a leg-sweep, he brought me down. Straddling me, he brought up his blade for the killing blow.

[minque]

Ok you post so frequent that I hardly get the opportunity to comment!! Then again my comments will be the traditional one:


Story. Hilarious. More. :lickinglips:

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My hand, scrabbling for my fallen blade, encountered something thin, round, and smooth. Without a conscious thought I grabbed it and brought my hand around ~ hard. He looked at me in surprise, the sword falling from his hand as he gasped for breath. Wonderingly, he felt at the shaft of the arrow that protruded from his throat where my desperate, last gasp had embedded it. Then, with a soft sigh, he collapsed to the side and lay motionless on the rock. Shaking and in pain, I fumbled at my pack and drew out a bottle of healing elixir.

I gasped as I felt flesh knitting itself together again, and that damnable wetness on my left arm lessened considerably. I had a couple of bottles of healing potion left but I wasn’t about to squander them right now ~ the knight had been well trained and I didn’t believe he was alone in Zaintirari. Of course, a quick healing spell completed the work of the potion and returned me to full strength even though I bitterly regretted squandering my magical reserves for such a mundane task. As I sat there and silently inspected my now ruined cuirass, I realised how foolish I’d been. Somebody had expended prodigious amounts of magicka to cloak and hide this cavern ~ a fact I’d been aware of. I had neglected to consider, however, that the occupants of the cave might employ similar, high-grade magic.

To my surprise, the thick Bonemold cuirass fitted me quite well and made a more than acceptable substitute for the lightweight chitin cuirass I’d worn since my arrival here. And, because I was much stronger thanks to my adventuring, the weight of it wasn’t onerous either. Freshly armoured, I continued my advance down the tunnel ~ now moving with as much stealth and care as I could.

There were four other warriors in Zaintirari, widely separated from each other in the large system of caves and chambers. None of them were trained to the same level as the first member of their band I’d encountered: which is not to say that I had an easy time defeating them. It was on the corpse of the fourth warrior that I found something interesting. He was wearing, or rather HAD been wearing, steel armour that facilitated the work of the Storm Atronach I’d summoned. The steel armour bore the unmistakable mark of House Redoran. As I squatted by the cooling body, I considered this carefully.

There were two options that I could see. Firstly: the Mer was a bandit and had acquired the armour from some hapless passer-by from House Redoran. That seemed the most likely explanation. However, the second possibility was far more disconcerting. It was possible that the Mer was actually of House Redoran and had been sent here for some unknown and nefarious reason: either to spy on me or to assassinate me. Supporting that supposition was the high-grade magic used to hide Zaintirari from travellers passing by (such magic could not have come cheap) and the very high quality of the equipment and supplies they had.

I surveyed the pile of objects I’d recovered by looting through the various barrels, chests, boxes and corpses. There, off in a pile of their own, sat a dozen scrolls inscribed with cunning and artful spells. Next to them lay ten bundles of arrows, as well as a couple of bags of arrowheads, some boxes of flights, and two bundles of silver arrow-shafts. Piled next to them was the armour ~ most of it Bonemold, but several pieces of steel and iron armour too. Charms and rings adorned the table: most of them common and easily obtainable but two in particular caught my eye and which I was now examining. The first was a thick ring made of some dark metal: embossed on its surface were five fingers, each with some arcane symbol adorning the fingernail. The other was a thick torus of metal designed to be worn around the neck ~ it hummed with the unsettling note of enchantment designed to fortify and bolster some aspect of the wearer. Then there were the weapons, bows, daggers, swords, spears, axes ~ enough to outfit a small army. One dagger caught my fancy ~ ornate and bejewelled and crackling with magic of a type I’d never seen before.

Sweeping up the items I’d decided to take away with me, I dropped them into the Hessian sack I’d appropriated for that very purpose and took a final look around the cave. As if the Powers That Be had decided to reward me for surviving this encounter by the skin of my teeth, I found a small locked chest that I’d managed to overlook in my initial sweep. The lock crumbled before the power of the ring I’d received from Baladas and I took a look inside.

House Redoran, definitely House Redoran spies. No mere bandit would have had access to the Ioun Stones I found inside the chest. I returned to one of the corpses and tore several strips of soft cloth from his jerkin. Using these, I carefully lifted each stone out of the chest and wrapped it up before stowing them in my pack. Black, brown, and multi-hued: I had no idea what each stone did but, having heard of the power of these items, I was fully resolved to find out. At the very bottom of the chest nestled another gift: a single Ametrine.

As I reached inside, I felt a familiar tugging sensation when I picked up the glistening red-hued gem. It was odd, I was getting a powerful sensation of magic from the stone, but it was completely mute. Shaking my head at the apparent paradox, I dropped the Ametrine into the pouch about my waist and walked back to Uvirith's Grave. There I thanked Kallin Basalius for her help before returning to Balmora.

The dagger turned out to be more than just a decorative piece. By focusing my will upon it, I found that I could manipulate the arcane fluxes that surround me in such a way as to greatly enhance my luck. Some residual effect of my experimentation must have lingered on for, when I sorted the scrolls, I found that I’d picked up an apprentice scroll.

It doesn’t surprise me you’ve never heard of such a thing: they are increasingly rare in this day and age. They were much more common in my youth, albeit never a readily available commodity. These are scrolls written by a mage for his apprentice to use ~ hence the name. They differ from normal scrolls in as much as, if you study one carefully, you can actually learn the spell written on it instead of just casting it once and using up the scroll. For an aspiring Mages, such as I was back then, they were a great boon. The one I had discovered taught a very powerful cantrip of concealment and was signed by a Mage named Breva.

[Aki]

Interesting...

I wonder where House Redoran got such powerful magick. :paperbag:

[minque]

[quote=Aki]Interesting...

I wonder where House Redoran got such powerful magick. :paperbag:[/quote]

Oh..but they have......never underestimate a Redoran.....

[Alexander]

[quote=minque]

Oh..but they have......never underestimate a Redoran..... [/quote]

pherhaps they stole it

[minque]

[quote=Alexander][quote=minque]

Oh..but they have......never underestimate a Redoran..... [/quote]

pherhaps they stole it [/quote]

Yeah right!!!! Hmm you Telvanni-guys seem to stick together, but just wait, I´ll show you Redoran-magic!!!! :madman:

[jonajosa]

Sticking with you Minque. Will show those Telvanni!
Good story. Keep it commin.

[OverrideB1]

Having spent yestere most profitably collecting several alchemical ingredients, both for my own use and to sell to bolster my dwindling cash-reserve, as well as my surprise discovery of the long abandoned ebony mine just south of Balmora, I was nonplussed to receive a letter from Llunela Hleran this morning.

“Esteemed Mouth, Sudhendra Vahl,” it began, “Construction of the Dwemeri device proved much easier and quicker than I feared and its effects on your stronghold were little less than astounding. I am pleased to report that your stronghold has now completed the second stage of its growth and is ready for you to take up residence. Should future promotion elevate you in rank, I will be delighted to oversee the improvement and expansion of your Tel.”

As you can imagine, I was greatly excited by this news: I’d never had a real place of my own before. Even this place in Balmora had been acquired by force of arms and, although I lived here, it wasn’t really my ‘home’. So it was that I wasted very little time in getting myself over to Uvirith's Grave to examine my stronghold.

The approach to the tower was along the back of the hillock where I’d met the Orcish overseer: although the dust had been fused together to form a solid surface and dark, monolithic stones had thrust themselves up on either side of the path. From the brow of the low hill, a ‘bridge’ formed from a flattened and shaped root spanned the distance to the heavy circular door set in the bole of the tower. The traditional Telvanni arch arced above the bridge, from the top hung a deep red banner inscribed with black characters. Reaching up, I held the banner steady as I read the words written there: TEL VAHL.

I expect it was a speck of grit that caused my eyes to water as I stared at the banner. Licking my lips, I let go of the heavy cloth and walked the short distance to the base of my tower. There was a woman standing there, hands clasped, watching me approach. “Muthsera Vahl,” she said, bowing deeply. “I am Raissu Asserbas, appointed by Llunela Hleran to be the manager of your tower. My job is to oversee the settlement of any villagers who wish to make your stronghold their home. I also have a list of local resources and can provide the manpower to utilise them to generate revenue for your estate.

“I also act as door warden while you are away, protecting your tower with the help of any mercenaries you might employ and controlling access to your tower while you are in residence. In the name of the Tribunal, and by my ancestors, I swear now fealty to you and will serve you honourably and loyally until the end of my days.”

With a lump in my throat, I thanked Asserbas and took from her the heavy key to my stronghold. The massively complex lock thudded reassuringly as I turned it, the carved semicircular doors swinging open to reveal the lower hall. Broad and spacious, the intertwined wooden walls glistened in the light from the twin crystals that thrust up through the floor. Directly opposite me, a corridor led down to a lower level while another led up to the upper reaches of the Tel.

Downstairs, misnomer thought that is, was a long corridor with storage niches cut into the living wood of the tower. A large circular area at the end of the corridor was bare except for the massive crystalline growth that formed the heart and soul of my stronghold. Upstairs there was a chamber with a comfortable bed, several shelves, a large storage chest, and a heavy desk with a profusion of drawers. Sitting on the shelves were books and storage jars ~ along with a collection of Soul-Stones of varying size and quality. On the top of the bed, which had been strewn with the petals of some aromatic flower, lay a pair of silken sleeping garments. Finally, glistening in the light that seemed to emanate from the very walls of the chamber, I discovered a silver and onyx ring resting on the top of the desk.

“That?” Raissu said when I showed her the ring. “That’s your stronghold ring. It is ensorcelled with a powerful translocation spell that will return you to the tower from wherever you may be.”

I took a slight detour and spoke to Kallin Basalius before I cast Recall and went to Tel Vos. I directed the Bretonian woman to speak to Raissu Asserbas and introduce herself as the head of my mercenary guard.

“Well, well,” Master Aryon said as I walked into his chambers. “I hear that your stronghold is ready and that you’ve made a good start on securing the area under your control. Excellent.” He drew himself up and spoke mock sternly, “no self-respecting Spellwright should have a tower, it is most unseemly that one of such a low rank should be charged with control of an area of vital importance. Don’t you agree, Wizard Vahl?”

“Yes, yes,” he said, overriding my profuse thanks. “The promotion is well deserved Serjo Vahl; your dedication to the House is a credit to us all. Now, there are some matters I must discuss with you.

“You are, as I said, a credit and object lesson to all of us, your rise through the ranks little less than meteoric. I have no doubt that you already qualify for the rank of Master. And that is what we must discuss now. To rise to the utmost rank of the House, you will need to find a Mouth to represent you on the council. While I appreciate that you are less isolationist than those of us born to the House, the other councillors would see it as an insult of the highest order if you were to personally attend a council meeting.

“Which brings us to my second point,” he said ruefully. “There are rumblings, my dear. Not all of the councillors are happy that you are where you are. While you can easily become a representative of the House, it is imperative that you have some support amongst the other Masters. Otherwise, you and I will never be able to effect any change in Telvanni policy towards the Empire since the others will rally together to vote against any proposal you put forward. I have mentioned this to you before, but currying favour with the other Masters of the House is absolutely necessary for your continued effectiveness.”

“Can you make any recommendations about a Mouth?” I asked, tactfully avoiding making any comment about my willingness to assist in his plans for a rapprochement with the Empire.

“Unfortunately, no,” he replied. “I suggest that you speak to the other Mouths in Sadrith Mora. They may know of someone suitable. Also, you will need to remember the traditional symbol of rank…”

Thanking him for his advice, I took my leave and translocated to Sadrith Mora. I did have, of course, the ‘traditional symbol of rank’ that Master Aryon had alluded to: but I was loath to relinquish my own Silver Staff of Peace. It bore a good deal of value for me, over and above its intrinsic worth: it was a symbol of my own growing power and puissance and, as such, was worth more than any amount of gold coin to me. That made acquiring a staff one of my priorities.

“A silver Staff of Peace?” Dalyne Arvel asked. “Hmmm, if I remember correctly, I think Galar Rothan might have one.” She really is a font of useful information that woman and, on a whim, I suggested that she might like to contact me at Tel Vahl should she ever require a patron. She seemed completely overwhelmed by this offer and stammered her thanks accompanied by several deep bows.

Clutching the silver staff I had purchased, I made my way into the council chambers proper and spoke to Master Demnevanni’s Mouth: Enar Roleth.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you Serjo Vahl,” he replied. “I do, however, have a message for you from my Master. He desires to speak to you on a matter of some importance. No, I don’t know what it’s concerning,” he said when I questioned him further. “Master Demnevanni would only say that it would be to your advantage to speak with him before making any decisions about your future.”

I fared better when I spoke to Raven Omayn. “There is a renegade Telvanni living in Balmora,” she said. “Edward Theman is his name, although he prefers to be known as ‘Fast Eddie’ for some reason. He is an Outlander like you, but with less patience to play the game of Telvanni politics. He will, no doubt, be willing to serve as your Mouth.” This comment caused a ripple of amusement but no explanation was forthcoming.

Returning to Balmora, I figured that one of the local inns would be a good place to start my search for this ‘Fast Eddie’. It was either that, or knock on every door in town and hope that I find him.

“Gah,” the Dunmer ensconced on the stool next to me said to his companion as I waited to catch the proprietor’s attention, “I don’t care how many oaths that champion fellow Larrius Varro swears. That magistrate has got the whole area sewn up tighter than a Guar’s british boat. Short of wading in with a sword, he’s never gonna root out the corruption in this town. Riddled with it, riddled from top to bottom.”

“You hear about that Ralen Hlaalo?” somebody else along the bar proffered. “Stabbed I hear, stabbed in the vitals. He was banging on about that Atrius fellow and how corrupt he was.”

“Nah,” the first speaker said slowly, “’S got nothing to do with it. I hear that it was some lizard got uppity about being sold into slavery what done him in. Can’t trust them Argonians, nasty lot they are.”

“Do you know a Edward Theman?” I asked the barkeeper as I sipped my Sujamma ~ which I’d paid way over the odds for as a way of bribing the fellow to answer my questions.

“’Fast Eddie’? Sure, I know Fast Eddie,” he replied. “Has some dingy upstairs hole on the riverfront up by the Temple.”

“If I should happen to hear about some lost mine,” I said in a whisper, “who should I speak to?”

“Well, I reckon that information might be worth a bit more than a few Drakes on the price of a drink,” the Dunmer said. “Alright, alright, no need to get hasty,” he gabbled as I let a small ball of fire appear in the palm of my hand. “No sense o’ humour you Mages, that’s your trouble. You got information, real information; speak to Nileno Dorvayn at the Council House. You better not be wasting their time though.”

I was not amused at being compared to those stuck-up do-nothings of the Mages’ Guild but this was neither the time nor the place to teach the Mer the error of his ways. Pushing the unfinished drink aside, I walked out of the Inn.

“Edward Theman?” I asked the thin-faced Man who’d ushered me inside his house when I’d knocked.

“Yeah, ‘Fast Eddie’, that’s me,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for someone to act as my Mouth when the time comes,” I said to him. His response was immediate.

“I’m that someone, believe me, I’m exactly that someone.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why are you that someone, why so eager to be a Mouth, and why are you called ‘Fast Eddie’. And, much more importantly, why ‘renegade’ Telvanni?”

“Well boss… Serjo,” he amended when I gave him a severe look. “I’m called ‘Fast Eddie’ and referred to as a ‘renegade’ for the same reason. I got into House Telvanni at an early age, one of the first Outlanders to do so. I rose quickly in the ranks to my present position of Lawman, mainly ‘cause I was a quick study… ‘Fast Eddie’, right?” I nodded, and he continued. “And that’s where my progress stalled. I’m only human, right, and I can’t compete with you Mer, begging your pardon Serjo, when it comes to longevity. Ten score and ten years, you’ve heard that expression? Well, I wasn’t getting any younger and none of the Mouths showed any sign of stepping down, or up and there were no new Masters coming along ~ leastways, none that’d have an Outlander for a Mouth.

“And that’s when Unela Arendus, the first Mouth of Master Neloth, got himself assassinated by the Morag Tong. Naturally, they thought I was guilty but, since they couldn’t prove anything, they ostracised me. So I come here, out of the way like ~ in case anyone got any bright ideas.”

“And were you?” I queried.

“Was I what?”

“Responsible for the assassination of Unela Arendus?”

“Give me a break boss… erm, Serjo,” he scoffed. “Arrange a Black Writ, on a Mouth, with the money I had? Ha, even now after five years of scrimping and saving, I doubt I could afford a Writ, Black or Grey, on a rat ~ never mind a Mouth.”

“Very well,” I said after giving the matter a few moment’s thought. “When the time comes I shall appoint you as my Mouth. On one condition.”

“Name it,” he said eagerly.

“That you never, ever refer to me as ‘Boss’ again.” I admonished.

“Agreed Serjo…”

“Vahl,” I supplied, extending my hand in the western fashion.

“Serjo Vahl,” he said, shaking my hand. “You won’t regret this, I promise.”

[OverrideB1]

Taking my leave of Edward Theman, I stepped back into the watery Balmoran sunshine and considered my next move. It wasn’t difficult and, five minutes later I was blasting apart the lock to the Hlaalo manor in High Town and sneaking inside. To be honest, my motivation was a little light-fingered work just for old times’ sake but the brutally butchered body of Ralen Hlaalo, sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, drove any thoughts of that from my mind. Whoever, or whatever if the rumours were to be believed, had killed him had been vicious almost beyond belief. Oddly, however, the wounds were not consistent with a knife: the weapon everyone said had killed this Hlaalu noble. They looked more… hacking wounds than stabbing wounds as though a small axe, rather than a dagger, had made them.

It was about then that I became aware of a soft noise upstairs, the sound of a woman sobbing. Moving stealthily since I had no real excuse for being here, I made my way up the stairs and pulled open the door from behind which came the soft sound of mourning.

“Please!” the Dunmeri woman squealed, “don’t kill me. I didn’t see anything, honestly I didn’t…”

“Calm yourself Muthsera,” I soothed. “I’m not here to harm you.” It took a lot of patient work to convince Uryne Nirith that I wasn’t there to hurt her and even more to persuade her to tell me what she knew. Amidst the sobs and tears, she told me that a Dunmer had killed her master.

“Not an Argonian with a knife?” I asked, determined to make sure.

“No Muthsera,” she managed between the tears. “A red-haired Dunmer with an axe.”

“Downstairs, in the main room?”

“No,” she said, “upstairs in the master’s chamber.”

“Riiiiight,” I said slowly. I had the picture now: a red-haired Dunmer with an axe, in the master’s chambers upstairs. Mortally wounded, Ralen Hlaalo had staggered to the top of the stairs, falling down them when he expired. So why, I mused as I made my way out of the manor house, was everyone accusing an Argonian?

“Elementary,” Nileno Dorvayn said when I asked her that very question. “Because the Argonian had means and motive. Nine-Toes makes regular deliveries to Hlaalo manor and was there on the day of the murder. Ralen sells slaves and was heard to comment that Nine-Toes would make an excellent slave. Means and Motive: just as I said.”

“Except I’ve heard it was a Dunmer,” I said.

“A Dunmer?” she repeated, obviously shocked.

“With an axe,” I added.

“And not an Argonian with a knife?” she said, with a disbelieving tone in her voice. I confirmed that I thought everyone was persecuting the wrong person and offered to assist in catching the real murderer. “And why would you do that, Telvanni?” she snapped.

I shrugged. “Seems to me that it would be in everyone’s best interest for the real murderer to be exposed and brought to justice. Rather than have an innocent killed…”

“I don’t trust you Telvanni,” she said, eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what game it is you’re playing, but I’m sure it’s detrimental to Great House Hlaalu."

“What if I were to say that I knew the location of the Vassir-Didanat Ebony Mine,” I said calmly. “And that I’d be willing to pass that information on to House Hlaalu for the right price? Seeing as how it’s in Hlaalu-controlled territory?” (At least, for the moment it was I added silently).

“I couldn’t help you with that,” she said. Turning around, she plucked a yellow-bound book off the table behind her. “This gives the location of all of the councillors of Great House Hlaalu,” she said, giving it to me. “I suggest you speak to Crassius Curio in Vivec City, he is the most likely to be able to assist you in that matter. I shall let him know you’re likely to contact him…?”

“Sudhendra Vahl,” I said.

Her eyes widened and she looked at me closely. “That’s strange,” she said, “Larrius Varro was asking after you just the other day. He’s based in the Moonmoth Legion fort just outside Balmora. He wants to see you about something, wouldn’t say what.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I’d been studiously avoiding any contact with representatives of the Empire since Caius Cosades had unexpectedly made me a spy for the Blades. Now here was a Legion Champion, no less, asking questions about me and letting it be known he wanted to talk to me. And about a subject he wouldn’t discuss ~ that had an uncomfortable ring of official Imperial business about it. I decided that the best thing I could do was to go and see this Larrius Varro.

The Moonmoth fort was every bit as drab and austere as I’d expected it to be ~ undecorated stonewalls rising high around a blocky central keep. The only splash of colour was the silver device on the banner that fluttered above the shrine to Arkay in the courtyard. Larrius Varro was tall and heavily built, clad in that shiny armour so beloved of high-ranking Imperial officials.

“I have a present for you Novice Vahl,” he said, addressing me by the title that Cosades had given me. “A very nice present from the Emperor himself. But I can’t seem to remember where I put it. While I try to remember, how about I tell you a little story?

“Once upon a time, in a town that’s not so very far away,” he began as I sat down and listened to this lunatic. “There lived a very bad man in a position of power. Let’s call him, for argument’s sake, Magistrate Atrius. Now this very bad man took lots of bribes from other very bad men and, as a result of this, those very bad men never, ever went to jail. Now everybody knew that this bad man was doing this, but nobody could ever find any proof. And, because proof isn’t as important as the very powerful friends the bad man had, nobody could do anything about it.

“Now,” he continued, “at the same time there was this very good man, an officer of the law. He enforced the law because that way people were kept safe from the very bad men and safe people are happy people, right?”

I nodded, bemused and baffled by this ‘story’. Larrius carried on with his recital, “it really annoyed the good man that the bad man was releasing the criminals as quickly as the officer was catching them. The officer got very frustrated because the very bad man’s important and powerful friends protected him and made it impossible for the officer to do anything. Then, one day, the officer had a very pleasant thought.

“I can’t do anything about the very bad man, he thought, but perhaps I can do something about the people who are bribing the very bad man.” Larrius Varro smiled brightly, nodded, and carried on, “I mean, the officer thought, if those people weren’t around then the very bad man wouldn’t get any more bribes. And without the bribes, perhaps, just perhaps, he might not be able to afford his very powerful and important friends any more. And this made the good officer very happy. But there was a problem. Do you know what that problem is, Sudhendra Vahl?”

“I have no idea,” I replied, even though I had a very, very bad feeling about where all this was going.

“Well,” Varro said cheerfully, “the problem was, nobody would tell the officer who the naughty people were, the ones bribing the bad man. So the very good man offered up a little prayer, that the naughty people would get washed away… in a bloodbath… and never, ever bribe the very bad man again. Now, isn’t that a lovely story? Not a perfect story because it ends with a prayer, but a nice story nonetheless.”

“Interesting,” I said slowly, “but why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think you might be able to do what I can’t,” Varro said, “namely, finding out who those naughty men are. I know that they’re members of the Camorra Tong and that the Guild of Thieves knows who they are. But, because of who I am, they won’t tell me. But they might tell you.”
“So I would come and tell you who they are?” I queried hopefully.

“Oh no,” he replied. “I couldn’t possibly do anything about it ~ there’d be no proof so my hands would be tied. But you remember my story, and the little prayer the good officer said? That the people who bribe the bad Magistrate might get washed away?”

“That’s a very interesting story,” I said, rising to my feet. “But I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

“I can tell you more interesting stories,” Larrius Varro said. “There’s the one about the outlaw on the Hla Oad road, or the one about… No, I know the story you need to hear.

“There once was this criminal who came to a new land and she got the chance to start a new life instead of rotting in jail where she belonged. Now the good officer, you remember, the one from the previous story? Well, he was intrigued by this, and more intrigued by the fact that, no sooner had she arrived than she was given a position in a very special organisation, one that nobody is really sure exists. Now this prisoner starts to make a name for herself with a group of very powerful people, people who don’t like the Empire very much. The good officer wondered what would happen if those people knew that their new friend was part of a shadowy organisation that represents the very people they hate?”

“You wouldn’t dare!” I spat at him as I grabbed the hilt of my sword. He smirked at me, dropping his eyes to my sword-hand. I realised how foolish I was being, attacking him here would be insanity.

“You’d be surprised at what I would dare,” he said, patting me on the shoulder in a friendly manner. “Now, why don’t you go away and think about my little stories while I try to remember where I put that nice present for you? Meanwhile, I would also think about finding out who the pawnbroker, merchant, scout, thief, smith, and servant are.”

My mind was awhirl as I walked slowly back towards Balmora. I couldn’t believe the nerve of the Man, threatening me in that manner and getting me to do his dirty work for him. The problem was, I was caught between a rock and a hard place. I had no doubt that Larrius Varro would inform Great House Telvanni that I was part of the Blades, and even less doubt about what that little nugget of information would do for my promotion prospects. To say nothing of the suddenly reduced life expectancy I would, briefly, enjoy. I had two options, neither of them good.

Firstly, I could go along with the Legion Champion’s plan, find out who the ‘naughty men’ were and provide him with his ‘bloodbath’. The problem there was that course of action would leave me open to arrest, prosecution, trial, and a very unwelcome visit to the local lockup. Or, Gods forefend, back to Alabaster Imperial Prison.

My second choice was to inform Caius Cosades of Varro’s threat. And that course of action would put me firmly back in the Spymaster’s orbit, and I would be pressured into doing whatever inane tasks he had for me. One of those would doubtlessly be to spy on Great House Telvanni: and that I would never do.

So, rock ~ me ~ hard place. Not a happy position to be and my self-delusion that I had two choices was not helping at all. Even if I spoke to Cosades, there was no guarantee that Varro didn’t have the means to reveal my ‘secret’ to the Masters of the House. Gods, but I really hate these Imperial officials. Right there and then I swore, on my honour, that I’d make Larrius Varro pay for putting me in this position: pay a very high price indeed.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Sottilde said when I asked her about the Camorra Tong.

Making sure that we were unobserved, I showed her the pile of coins in my hand. She looked at them, nodded and mouthed ‘later’ before making them vanish with all the skill of a trained pickpocket. So it was, in the dead of night, there came a knocking on my door and Sottilde slipped inside.

“I must be quick,” she said. “Otherwise I’ll be missed. So listen carefully, I’ll say this only once. The scout is Vadusa Sathryon; the pawnbroker is Marasa Aren; and the thief is Madrale Thirith. Thanelen Velas is the merchant and Sovor Trandel is a savant, not a servant.”

“Where will I find them?” I asked as she turned back towards the door.

“Where any self-respecting member of the Camorra Tong would hang out in Balmora,” she replied, “the Council Club.” And, with that, she was gone.

[OverrideB1]

Sleep, poor broken thing that it was, brought no clearer council on the problem that faced me. Needing more time to mull it over, I decided that I’d go and speak to Master Aryon. If I couched the problem in careful terms, he might be able to give me some useful advice.

“A pretty problem,” he said, looking at me carefully. “This friend of yours is, effectively, being blackmailed by a person in a position of importance?” I nodded. “Hmmm, let me consider this. Meanwhile, I have a conundrum of my own for you.

“As you know, I took great pains to ensure that there was no question about the legality of your stronghold. The other Houses often complain that we are quick to establish prominence in an area where we have no authority.” He smiled, “Often by establishing illegally built strongholds. I don’t dispute that we have been guilty of this, and Hlaalu and Redoran have often been quick to attempt to wrest control of those strongholds from us. Ineffectually for the most part. Twice they have been baulked by your intervention.”

He continued to speak as realisation came to me: that’s why I’d been sent to Odirniran and Shishi! “Now it seems that House Hlaalu is taking a page from our book. Rethan Manor, built on the Odai Plateau near Balmora, is being built without a construction contract from the Duke. Therefore, under the rules that govern our presence on this island, it falls to us or House Redoran to do something about it. I wish for you to be the instrument of Telvanni justice: travel to the Odai Plateau and kill Raynasa Rethan, sack the mansion and return here.”

I nodded, although this task had little attraction. Before I left, however, Master Aryon had the advice I’d wanted to hear. “If I were your friend,” he said, “I would perform whatever task the blackmailer requires done. The time for retribution is when he feels unthreatened and secure and doesn’t fear your friend. After all, an old Telvanni proverb teaches us: revenge is a dish best served cold, and the passage of enough time can cool the warmest meal.”

With a spell I returned to Balmora, determined to follow Master Aryon’s advice to my ‘friend’. Finding the Council Club was no great problem; it dominated the little alley that ran between the main square and the river. Checking that I had everything I needed, I pre-prepared a spell and stepped inside.

“What do you want Outlander?” the Dunmer at the top of the stairs sneered. “Your kind ain’t welcome in here.” Well, wasn’t this interesting? Here stood a Dunmer with red hair: at his waist was slung a small Dwemeri axe.

“Are you addressing me?” I said with icy politeness. “Who are you to tell me where I can, or cannot, go?”

“Yes, I am addressing you,” he said, crudely mimicking my tone of voice. “Name’s Thanelen Velas an’ don’t you forget it N’wah.”

“Velas?” I said, pretending to recall something. “Doesn’t your mother work down the docks in Ebonheart. They call her ‘Ten-For-A-Drake’ Velas don’t they? Yes, every sailor’s friend from what I hear.”

“You what?” he screamed, totally taken aback. Sometimes it pays to have friends in high places, sometimes friends in low places were better. I had heard many a cutting insult from the peddlers who’d travelled through the village when I was younger and had memorised more than a few.

“I only repeat what I’ve heard,” I said. “Wasn’t it your father that was done for smuggling Moon Sugar, or was he the Argonian your mother lived with for a while?” I peered closely at his face, “Yes, you have the look of a lizard-mongrel about you.”

His only reply was to jerk his axe from his belt and take a vicious swing at me. Which was perfectly fine with me: law of the land ~ if someone attacks you, you are fully entitled to defend yourself. The blade of my axe interrupted his second swing. Grinning, I whispered, “Shall we dance Velas?”

Avoiding his wild swipe, the blade of my axe hissed upwards ~ parting the black silk of his shirt from waist to collar and leaving a thin, bloody line along the way. He sucked in a breath and swung again for my head. Ducking, I neatly straightened as he spun partially around, grabbing that ridiculous mane of hair that hung down his back and giving him an impromptu haircut.

“Not so good when it’s not dark are you Velas?” I goaded, “Pretty poor when your victim’s not got his back turned or isn’t asleep in his bed.”

He lost it totally then, frothing at the mouth as the fine rain of red hair settled around his feet. I may not be the best fighter in the world but there’s one thing I do know: a furious opponent is a careless opponent. I twisted to avoid a blow that would have gutted me like a Slaughterfish, bringing my blade up hard. Over his falsetto scream, I leant in and whispered “This one’s for Ralen Hlaalo, you scum.”

Leaving him unmanned and bleeding to death, I wiped my blade on his shirt and slung it back across my pack.

“What the Oblivion was that scream?” one of the men downstairs asked as I stepped into the bar of the club. I shrugged, watching as the three of them headed up the stairs to discover my handiwork for themselves. The barman gave me a flat, menacing look ~ his hand sliding beneath the counter in a gesture that was well known to me. Giving him a little shake of the head, I silently warned him not to get involved. His eyes cut left, looking towards the arched doorway beside the bar.

Moving quickly now, I headed through the arch and down the stairs. Of the two doors at the bottom, one was locked. Stepping through the open door, I confronted a petit woman.

“Ahh, there you are,” I said cheerfully. Reaching into my pouch, I fetched out a 10-Septim piece and flipped it over to her.

“What the bloody Oblivion is this?” she said, looking at the coin that nestled in her palm.

“I would have thought that was obvious,” I replied, trying to appear genuinely puzzled. “Ten Drakes, anything goes, a good time had by all? At least, that’s what the Mer upstairs said.”

“You’re treading on thin ice Fetcher,” she hissed, spitting on the coin and letting it drop to the floor. “Do you know who I am?”

“I have a very good idea,” I said, slipping the dagger from my boot as I bent to pick up the coin. “A common little trollop with less sense than she was born with.” She coughed, eyes widening as the bloody foam stained her lips. “Message for you from Larrius Varro,” I whispered into her ear as her eyes started to glaze over, “you’ve been a very baaaa-d girl.”

Jerking the dagger-blade upwards and twisting as I yanked it out, I pushed her lifeless frame away from me, allowing it to collapse on the bed. So far I had been lucky, but I knew that the three remaining members of the Camorra Tong would have discovered the ruin of Thanelen Velas on the lobby floor and put two and two together. Even if one of them wasn’t a savant, I was pretty sure they’d arrive at the right answer. Getting this far had been easy, getting out again wouldn’t.

“Well, well, well,” the extravagantly dressed Dunmer said as I stepped back into the barroom. “Aren’t you the adventurous type? Come to right a few wrongs, have we? Coming in here like some cheap little assassin.”

“Well,” I said with great daring, “it just so happens that I have this piece of paper here.” With that, I reached into my satchel and fetched out a rolled up piece of parchment. They took a step back as I unrolled it. They actually did. Then the usual Vahl luck flared up again.

“’Ere,” the barkeeper said from just behind me, “that ain’t no Writ.”

[Wolfie]

Really cool story. Can't wait to see what happens next

[OverrideB1]

There was a nasty sound, the sort of sound that can only be described as three weapons being drawn simultaneously. “Damn’” I cursed as they rushed towards me. Using the barkeeper’s considerable bulk as a fulcrum, I swung myself up and onto the counter, running lightly along it as my three opponents milled around in confusion. One of them was quicker than the others, and a well-thrown dagger slashed my cheek in passing. Diving off the bar, I tucked and rolled, coming to my feet facing the trio.

“Exuro meus Hostilis” I snapped, extending my right hand.

“Holy sh…” the barkeep squawked, diving for cover behind the bar as the fireball exploded in the middle of the room. “…it. No spells, no spells. For the love of Azura, no spells,” he yelled.

There was an entertaining moment while the three of them performed an amusing little dance, slapping at themselves to put out the flames the backwash of my spell had ignited. Then it all got deadly serious in a hurry. The richly dressed Dunmer, ignoring the still smouldering patches on his tunic, rushed in at me with his sword extended. With a twist, I hurried him on his way, hearing him emit a gasp as the pointy business end of his blade buried itself in the soft plaster ~ driving the rounded holdy bit into his ample stomach. Sparing a second, I spat “Obscurum successio” in his direction before spinning to meet the other two.

I had another trick that the Tinkers had taught me, one I’d not used in a while. Grabbing the arm of the nearest Dunmer, I bent and twisted: dropping his weight onto my hip, before straightening and heaving up and away.

“Bugger!” the barkeeper said, diving for cover once more as the lightly built Dunmer crashed into the shelves behind the bar, showering the hapless proprietor with splinters of wood and a large quantity of wasted booze. Another thrown dagger bounced off my Bonemold cuirass and I turned my undivided attention to the only one of the trio not moaning he was blind or laying slumped in a pool of cheap liquor.

I had no time for finesse, the Dunmer behind the bar was already making groggy waking up sounds and the spell wouldn’t hold the third of them for long. Feinting in with the axe, I grabbed a handful of silken fabric and slammed my head forward. There was a satisfying ‘CRACK’, closely followed by a scream of “By dose! You broke by dose.”

As the business edge of my axe cracked and separated his ribcage, his nose became the least of his worries. Wrenching it free, I spun and hurled it at the mobster who was just clambering over the bar. He threw himself flat to avoid being scalped, giving me enough time to drag my sword from its scabbard and move towards him. Faintly, from behind the bar, I heard a moan of “Oblivion’s Bells, me booze!” as the axe smashed rather satisfyingly into another shelf of flasks and bottles.

We locked blades and struggled for an advantage, neither of us able to gain it. Advantage Vahl: the blinded mobster chose that moment to blunder into his compatriot. I grabbed the Dunmer as the muscular thug righted himself and drove his steel sword forward. The blinded Dunmer made rather an effective shield. Shoving the mortally wounded Mer into his friend, I took a step back and a quick breath. Now to finish this. As Mister Muscle snarled and shoved aside the dead body hampering his movements, I reached in and laid a hand on his chest. “Vomica cruor”.

The deadly spell’s effect was almost instantaneous. The mobster staggered and looked puzzled for a moment, then roared in agony as the arcane fire did exactly what I’d told it to do. Jerking and twitching as his blood fizzled and boiled, the last standing thug managed a step towards me before his heart exploded in his chest with an audible popping sound.

A heavy hand fell on my shoulder, and I spun around furiously ~ hand extended and a cantrip on my lips. I bit back the spell as I saw the heavily armoured form of one of the local guards. “Hello, hello,” he said, “what’s all this here then?”

“Just a poor Dunmer defending her honour,” I said. “Just ask the barkeeper, he’ll tell you they started it.”

The barkeeper’s head popped up above the scorched counter like some small creature startled from its hole. As the two guards turned to look at him, I let the spell I’d almost unleashed on them flicker hungry fire across my fingers while I glared at him.

“Ummm, yeah,” he said hurriedly. “It was them, they started it. Bad, bad they were. She done nothing wrong.”

“Humph,” the talkative guard said, turning back to me. “Well then, nothing to see here ~ move along.” With a sardonic nod of the head to the bar’s proprietor, I stalked off up the stairs and out of the Council Club. Where I promptly had an attack of the hysterics.

Finally mastering my mirth, I cleared my throat and put on a serious mien. I couldn’t believe it. Me, Sudhendra Vahl, flinging spells about like some Battlemage or Spellsword, crossing blades with no less than three well-armed thugs. I tensed as the two Hlaalu guards came out of the club but they simply nodded to me and continued on their way down towards the river. One thing I was sure of, I wouldn’t be welcome in the Council Club for a very, very long time.

“You’re bleeding,” Uryne Nirith said, raising her hand to my cheek. “Here, let me.” Despite my protestations that the wound was nothing more than a scratch, she insisted on cleaning it with a damp cloth and then treating it with a thick yellowish salve from a plain octagonal box. Personally, I was damn’ proud of that scratch ~ the only visible sign that I’d had a run in with five armed criminals. When she’d ministered to the wound, I insisted she accompany me to the Hlaalu Council house.

Nileno Dorvayn was still somewhat sceptical but, after hearing Nirith’s description of the Dunmer who’d killed her master and my description of Thanelen Velas, she grudgingly admitted that she’d been wrong. With some ill grace, she counted out a thousand Septims and gave me the stack of coins.

“You know Nirith,” I said as we stood outside, “if you ever feel a need to get away from these Hlaalu scum, there is an opening for a good cook at my stronghold.”

“I… I might consider that,” she whispered before scurrying away.

With a jaunty step, I walked out through the main gate of Balmora and cut along the banks of the Odai. The directions to Rethan Manor were simple enough; follow the Odai south until you come to the Odai Plateau. As I walked past the Shulk egg-mine, a sobering thought came to me. Balmora was no longer safe for me: the guards might have brought that little song and dance about me defending my honour but I’d wager ten Septims to one that the barkeeper had run straight to the Camonna Tong with my description. And they didn’t strike me as the sort of people who just forgive and forget. Heaping still more curses on the head of Larrius Varro, I finally arrived at Rethan Manor ~ my mood as black as the gathering storm clouds.

“If you value your lives,” I snapped at the two bewildered servants that tried to bar my way, “be elsewhere.” Even in the filthy mood I was currently in, I had no desire to re-enact the Redoran slaughter of innocents at Shishi. Not that that would slow me down in the slightest, if push came to shove. I’d had more enough of these turncoats, these traitorous Hlaalu scum: the stench of their corruption filled my nostrils like the smell of Guar dung.

“Rethan!” I snarled, stepping to the top of the stairs as the downstairs door slammed shut behind the departing servants. “For building an illegal stronghold, prepare to pay the price.”

“Oh crap,” he moaned, dropping the goblet of Matze he was holding. “Telvanni. Look, look, surely we can come to some arrangement? I have money, lots of it. Or an ebony sword ~ you can have that if you like.”

“You’d better pick up that sword,” I said in a cold tone of voice. “You’re going to need it. Especially if you think you can bribe me as if I were a money-grubbing Hlaalu swine like you.”

With a snake-quick movement, he threw the concealed dagger at me. “Don’t need a sword you wussy little mage,” he said gleefully as the dagger slapped into my shoulder, puncturing the Bonemold armour and pricking me slightly.

Yanking it out, I grinned wickedly. “You need to throw a bit harder than that,” I informed him.

“No, no…” he started to say. Whatever other plea he was about to make was cut off by the sudden impact of my axe against his temple. Bone cracked and there was a spurt of blood and other less identifiable matter before he’d finished. Ignoring the fallen corpse, I searched Rethan’s chamber: the ebony sword was very nice; as were the ebony darts and throwing stars I picked up off the shelf. From his finger I took a ring similar to the one I’d found at Tel Vahl and, presumably, serving the same purpose and five hundred Septims from his purse.

I found it oddly difficult to concentrate as I made my way across the bridge outside Balmora and walked up to the fort. By the time I arrived, I was drenched in sweat and shivering despite the heat. The double-doors seemed strangely heavy as I pushed them open and stepped inside. What was wrong with…

“That’s better, sip it,” a gentle voice said. I felt cool liquid against my lips and was suddenly parched. “No, sip don’t gulp,” the voice admonished. I opened my eyes and stared into the grey eyes of a severe faced Man whose face was framed by a rough woollen hood. “You had a very narrow escape there Dark Elf,” he said, moving the goblet of liquid from my mouth.

“What?” I croaked. Licking my lips, I tried again. “What happened?”

“You were poisoned,” the Man said, “that’s what happened. Fortunately, you managed to get here before you collapsed. You’ll be thirsty for a while but keep your liquid intake down at least until the morrow.”

“Thank you,” I said, already feeling well enough to swing my feet around and sit on the edge of the rough cot. The cloaked and hooded monk inclined his head and stepped away, going about his business. When I felt well enough to do so, I stood up and went in search of Larrius Varro ~ making a not-so-small donation to the chapel funds as I left.

“Well,” Varro said expansively, “it seems my little story had a happy ending after all. I must congratulate you on a job well done, and done very discretely too. As it happens, I remembered where I’d put that little present for you; here it is with the compliments of the Emperor. And, as a personal thank you for your discretion, I’d like you to have this book from my own library.”

I thanked him through gritted teeth, with a fake smile and polite words. Someday Varro, I thought to myself as we exchanged pleasant goodbyes, I am going to make you part of a story. And it’s not going to have a very happy ending for you either.

I figured I was safe for at least one more night in Balmora: I simply didn’t feel up to travelling back to Tel Vahl. That didn’t stop me from scouring Dura gra-Bol’s house from top to bottom for hidden assailants and securely locking and warding every window. As I sat, sipping from a mug of water to slake the incessant thirst that had dogged me all evening, I glanced at the small velvet covered box that Varro had given me.

Inside the box was a garish looking ring, made of a white metal and set with yellow stones. On the face of the ring was etched “Vir Quod Amplexus Procul Unus”: ‘Man and Surroundings as One’. Carefully probing the ring, I discovered that it bore a charged enchantment of concealment ~ quite a powerful one too.

[OverrideB1]

Master Aryon chortled with glee as I related the tale of my battle with Raynasa Rethan. “Oh very good,” he applauded when I’d finished. “Amusingly enough I have here a document from House Redoran which makes the usual complaints about us building a tower at Uvirith's Grave.

“What makes it particularly delicious is the message I received today from our esteemed Arch-Magister. It seems that the Redoran have done exactly what they accuse us of doing ~ building an illegal stronghold. Since you acquitted yourself so well, I’d like you to find the Indarys Manor at Bal Isra.”

My reception in Ald’ruhn was fairly unfriendly and it took me a moment to realise I was wearing the hooded robe I had been given by Master Aryon ~ the scintillating brown fabric clearly marking me as a Telvanni, even if you disregarded the House devices embroidered in gold on the collar. Well, I wasn’t about to do anything about that right now, even though it made getting directions to Bal Isra difficult. My persistence finally paid off, and I was told that Bal Isra is along the road to Maar Gan.

The walk wasn’t particularly onerous and I took the opportunity to collect a few samples of the wild plants that only seemed to grow in this area of the island. There’s a small, thorny bush called ‘Trama Root’ and a huge creeping plant called ‘Bitter-Green’ ~ the juice of which is amazingly caustic… as I quickly found out.

Indarys Manor, when I finally arrived at Bal Isra, wasn’t impressive at all. It seemed to consist of a low, squat building with a couple of those odd, oval Redoran huts clustered around it. A tall watchtower rose up at the back of the walled off area, and I made a mental note to ask Llunela Hleran about something similar for Uvirith's Grave.

“Go and get Banden,” a roughly-clad Dunmer called to a man lounging near the doorway of the squat building in the centre of the courtyard. “You can’t come in here Telvanni,” he called to me, rushing up with arms outstretched.

“And you’re going to stop me how, exactly?” I asked, flipping one edge of the robe over my shoulder. Underneath I was arrayed for war: the ebony blade I’d taken from Rethan Manor hung naked at my waist and I’d repaired and polished the Bonemold armour until it gleamed. The Dunmer gulped, and took a step back, his arms dropping to his side.

“I told Serjo Arobar this dishonourable act would end badly,” a bored voice said. “Now I’m going to have to compound that dishonour by slaying someone who’s simply following the rules. Not that you Telvanni are noted for that.”

The speaker was a young man with a shock of dark hair. An earring glinted in one lobe and a swirling tribalistic tattoo covered his left cheek. Like me he was clad in Bonemold armour and the unmistakable hilt of an ebony broadsword rose from the red and gilt scabbard hanging from his belt. I took an instant dislike to the fellow: probably because of the totally and utterly bored look on his face. Here was a young man ~ most likely only a few years older than me ~ for whom dealing death had already become tiresome.

“D’you want to set some ground rules Telvanni?” he asked with an utter lack of interest. “Or shall we just square off and have at each other until one of us is dead?”

“Here’s a rule for you Muthsera Indarys,” I snapped, unclasping my cape and dropping it into the dust. “Try to learn some manners in the short time you have left before I send your soul screaming to meet your ancestors.”

He smirked and made a small bow. “My pardon my lady, I have been a complete bore. I am Muthsera Banden Indarys, Redoran House Brother and Lord of Bal Isra. To whom do I have the honour of speaking?”

“I am the Wizard Serjo Vahl of Great House Telvanni,” I replied in the same insolent tone he’d addressed me with. “Mistress of Uvirith's Grave.”

“So, that’s the formalities out of the way,” he said. “D’you want to fight now, or shall we chat a little longer?”

I shrugged and drew the blade from my belt. He gave an insolent smirk and drew his own blade. “Any final words?” he asked as he took up a fighting stance.

“Yes, how about Obscurum successio?” I inquired sweetly as I let the sword fall into the dust and cast the spell. He cursed as the green mist enveloped him, then cursed much more impressively as he realised what I’d done. Sweeping up the ebon blade, I spun ~ a thin red line appearing at his throat. I stepped aside smartly as the severed artery gave way and a thick fountain of blood gushed out and splattered on the dusty ground.

(What? You think me fool enough to fight a Redoran House Brother on equal terms? I might have been improving as a fighter, but my increased muscles haven’t stopped me using my brains.)

There was a good deal of muttering from the housemen as I took the ebony broadsword from the late Banden Indarys’ hand and weighed it speculatively. Wisely they decided not to press the matter. The broadsword was shorter than the blade I’d taken from Rethan Manor and had a much better balance. I suspected that the Hlaalu sword was more of a status symbol than something actually intended for fighting. This blade, however, was clearly a fighter’s weapon. With a grunt of effort, I managed to undo his belt and took the scabbard from it.

With the mass of the sword now hanging from my own belt, I stepped inside Indarys Manor. After all, to the victor go the spoils. There was more to the manor than met the eye ~ much of the structure was buried beneath the ground. The place was pleasantly cool because of this and I admired the Redoran sense of adaptability ~ build a manor under ground in one of the hottest areas on the island: smart. In the bedchamber, I found the spoils I was looking for: some three hundred Septims and a nice set of armourer’s repair tools.

Master Aryon was delighted with my report and even had some more useful advice for me concerning the Hlaalu sword. “It’s likely to be too expensive for most merchants to buy from you,” he said. “This leaves you two options. Either you can sell it at a loss, or you can seek out a trader I’ve heard of. I have heard this trader is based in West Gash and has a great deal of money. Of course, your ebony blade may be worth more than the funds he has, but you’re likely to get much more for it from him than anyone else.

“Now,” he said, “if you wish to advance further in the House you really need to consider gaining support from some of the other Masters.”

[jonajosa]

[quote=OverrideB1]“Yes, how about Obscurum successio?” I inquired sweetly as I let the sword fall into the dust and cast the spell. He cursed as the green mist enveloped him, then cursed much more impressively as he realised what I’d done. Sweeping up the ebon blade, I spun ~ a thin red line appearing at his throat. I stepped aside smartly as the severed artery gave way and a thick fountain of blood gushed out and splattered on the dusty ground.[/quote]

This was cool. I wish that was in the game. Keep coming up with the awsome spells.

[minque]

Yes Sudhendra is one cool lady.....and I agree with you jonajosa......it would have been great to have some of the events Override is describing in such a wonderful way..... :lickinglips: