The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Part 3 Options

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Tel Branora was my first stop this morning since it was one of the most remote from Sadrith Mora. As I translocated onto the wooden dock, I had serious doubts about what I was doing. Not about my elevation to Master, but seeking to curry favour with Mistress Therana. The only time I’d met her she hadn’t exactly been the picture of stability. I still had the occasional nightmare about the poor Khajiiti.

“Are you not Sudhendra Vahl?” Therana asked. “Excellent,” she said when I confirmed I was, “I’ve been wanting to meet you.” I was astounded, she seemed to be very much in control: certainly more so than when we last met.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Serjo Therana,” I said carefully. She beamed happily and I asked the question. “I’m wondering if there is anything I can do to secure your support. You see…”

“Pish and tosh,” she said airily, waving a hand regally in the air as she interrupted me. “I know full well what this is all about Sudhendra Vahl. Well, if you want my support you’ll have to bring me something that smells of Ash Yams.”

“Ash Yams?” I asked, puzzled.

“No, no, no,” she said, stamping her foot like a spoiled child. “Not Ash Yams, something that smells like Ash Yams. Tell me, my dear, were you born this stupid or did you have to practice?”

“Where,” I asked as I bit down on a retort, “might I find something that smells of Ash Yams?”

“Why would you be looking for something that smells of Ash Yams?” she asked in a puzzled tone of voice. “Youngsters nowadays, they ask the strangest questions. I suppose, if you really want something that smells of Ash yams, you could try the Ghostgate – the smell is strongest there.”

“Anything in particular I should be looking for?” I asked, growing wary as Therana started to pace up and down.

“Bow,” she snapped as she came to a quivering halt, eyes flashing. Hastily, I bowed in front of her ~ although I never took my eyes off her. “Silly little girl,” she snapped. “Bow,” she said, making a shooting gesture, “not ‘Bow’. Now go away, I feel another of my headaches coming on.”

I hastily made an exit, sinking slowly down the access tunnel as I heard Therana engaged in a fairly heated argument with herself. If I should find this bow she sought, I wondered if she’d remember that I was supposed to get it for her.

I travelled to Tel Naga in Sadrith Mora and made my way up to Master Neloth's champers atop the tower. He regarded me coolly as I approached and I was disconcerted to notice a subtle shifting of his personal guards.

"Who have you come to kill this time?" he asked. "Am I going to need to hire still more mercenaries?"

I assured Neloth that I wasn't there for any nefarious purpose. "I am here to seek your support," I told him.

"Ah yes," he muttered, "your impending promotion to Master. You understand, of course, that I cannot guarantee my support but, if you'd like me to look favourably on your promotion, there is something you can do for me.

"There is a robe of great power, called 'The Robe of The Dragon's Pride'," he continued. "Currently, it's in the possession of Senise Thindo of Tel Aruhn. She’s a child of barely a century and the robe would have been mine but for the happenstance of her birth. Indeed, it should be mine. Provide me with the robe and I will reward you greatly and look favourably on promoting you."

I nodded by acquiescence, although I was pretty certain that it wouldn't be as simple as walking up to this Thindo and asking her for the robe ~ especially if it was a family heirloom of some kind. With this in mind, I returned to the ground and walked thoughtfully over to the docks. From there I chartered a boat to take me to Tel Mora.

Mistress Dratha was blunt and to the point. No sooner had I been presented to her than she told me exactly what I had to do to gain her favour. "You're here to gain my support for your promotion to Master," she said. "I would approve it anyway, the Council needs more powerful women on it. Especially powerful women who are not totally insane.

"So, if you wish to gain greater favour with me, you'll visit Tel Naga in Sadrith Mora. There you'll find an irritating Bosmeri named Berengeval. He used to be in my employ but Neloth made him a better offer. When he left, he took an amulet with him. I want it back."

"I couldn't help but notice," I said, "that all of your guards are female."

"Well of course they are," the Mistress replied. "After Berengeval left with my amulet I decided that I'd make a mistake employing a man. Women are so much more trustworthy and reliable."

My final step was to void-walk over to Gnisis. Inside Arvs-Drelen I found Master Demnevanni in an expansive mood.

"You really don't need to gain any additional favour with me," he said. "You have my support regardless. Although, if you feel in need of a little excitement, I have something I need done. My research has reached a very interesting point: I’ve found reference to several Dwemer artefacts that carry enchantments. Now, since the Dwemeri didn't use magic (or didn't use it in any way we would recognise) it puzzles me how they would 'enchant’ something.

"One of their most powerful artificers was a Mer named Dahrk Mezalf. Dahrk Mezalf is sometimes referred to in documents as Mezalf Bthungthumz. Now, interestingly enough, I found a reference to Bthungthumz in the Chronicles of Nchuleft. My contacts tell me that this ruin actually exists somewhere betwixt Maar Gan and the coast. I’d like you to travel there and see what you can find for me."

"I have something of a problem," I said to him after accepting his commission. "Therana has asked me to get a bow for her from the Ghostgate. At least, I think that's what she wanted."

"Poor Therana," he said kindly, "the passing years have been most cruel to her. Of course, her habit of worshipping the Mad One hasn't helped. Still...

"So she's looking for Ralyn Othravel's bow is she? I can't imagine what she'd want with it, as far as I’m aware it's not magical at all. Ralyn Othravel isn't likely to part with Auriel's Bow willingly, and I’ll warn you now that he's a powerful and puissant Ordinator, charged with the protection of the Temple at the towers of the Ghostgate. If you really seek to obtain it for Therana I recommend you take plenty of fire-power.

"And," he said sternly, "When you get back, you and I need to have a long and serious chat."

As I took my leave, I thought about Baladas' parting words. Although I knew that the ancient wizard was well-disposed towards me I wasn't very happy about the idea of a 'long, serious' conversation with him. I was also bemused by the acquisitiveness of the Masters ~ each had a desire to acquire an artefact of power. A prime example of Telvanni mores.

I returned to Tel Vahl after speaking to Master Baladas: partially to prepare my equipment for the morrow and partially to consider what I needed to do. Since the bow Therana wanted was at Ghostgate and Baladas wanted me to investigate Bthungthumz and both of these were much more remote than the other locations, I was resolved to start with these.

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Maar Gan was my first destination, and I got there by the simple expedient of translocating to Ald’ruhn and then taking the silt-strider. I had taken the precaution of 'dressing down' and was clad in a simple robe and cloak that didn't mark me as a member of anything in particular. This made asking questions of the locals much easier, although the answers were not very helpful. As near as I could determine, there were two Dwemeri ruins near the top of the Foyada Bani-Dad. Either of these could be Bthungthumz.

I expected my journey up the Foyada to be uneventful; it held few dangers for me. I was to find, however, that it still held a few surprises. As I walked along, I became aware of an oppressiveness in the air ~ which had become uncommonly still. The stifling heat increased as the sky started brewing heavy weather. Assuming it to be another of those torrential downpours I’d endured up near Dagon Fel, I raised my hood and carried on.

It soon became apparent that I needed to find some shelter, and find it fast before the very flesh was stripped off my bones. At first the wind-borne ash and dust that the stiffening breeze whipped up was not a major source of worry. But as the breeze became a wind, and that wind grew ever stronger, it picked up more and bigger fragments of ash and dust. Soon the air was thick with flying grit and I could feel it abrading my exposed skin and settling inside my armour even as the surroundings became lost in the swirling morass of dust. Lifting the cloth up around my mouth and tugging down my hood, I pressed on through the ash-storm desperately seeking some shelter.

The caverns known as Sha-Adnius provided a very welcome haven from the howling wind and abrasive dust. Unfortunately, the caves already had some occupants and they were not inclined to be hospitable. Fortunately, they were completely unprepared for my sudden arrival and I’d slain two of their number before they could rally themselves.

The remaining bandits, deciding discretion was the better part of valour, made a very hasty exit from the caverns, fleeing into the still howling storm. Which suited me, I was perfectly happy to have them run or die ~ I have no time or patience for those that prey on weaker people. Like the six I found huddled and shivering fearfully in a locked cage at the back of Sha-Adnius.

“Khajiit know you Telvanni,” one of them said in a puzzled tone as I unfastened the bracer from around her wrist. “Khajiit smell magic of Telvanni on you. Telvanni all slavers, why you release slaves then?”

A good question, and one that deserved a good answer. “Let’s just say that not all Telvanni are slavers,” I said, dropping the hateful hunk of metal on the ground. “But you can’t expect the traditions of thousands of years to die out overnight.”

“Tsani know secret,” the Khajiiti said, taking a hold of my arm. “Slavers not know this secret, but Tsani tell Telvanni.” She took me to a cleft in the rock wall and reached inside. When she withdrew her hand, she had a small egg-shaped yellow stone. Reverently, I took the Ioun stone from her, thanking her gravely as I placed the valuable gemstone in my pack.

It took a couple of hours for the storm to blow itself out, uncomfortable hours with me keeping a wary eye on the six slaves who sat on the opposite side of the chamber to me ~ casting me the occasional baleful or fearful glance. The silence was thick and uneasy: we had nothing in common to talk about, they didn’t trust the fell-handed Telvanni warrior-mage sitting opposite them, and I sure as Oblivion wasn’t going to trust them for a moment. Too many deeply-rooted grievances on their part and I was uncertain whether or not one of them would dig up some ancient slight and decide I was responsible. So, it was with a great sense of relief on all our parts that we went our separate ways.

It wasn’t too long after leaving Sha-Adnius that I spotted one of my possible destinations ~ a massive Dwemeri ruin rising up from the side of the Foyada Bani-Dad. As I approached, I could determine another ruin just a short way to the north. If the information I’d collected in Maar Gan was to be believed, one of these was Bthungthumz. I did have a tiny little, almost insignificant problem. The sheer walls of the Foyada would make it impossible to clamber up to the ruins and I was loathe to expend magicka levitating over the valley walls in case I had need of some small reserves later. I had, of course, a couple of restorative potions with me but again, I didn’t want to use them when there were two ruins to explore and I might need them urgently.

As I walked past the second of the towering ruins, I saw that the side of the Foyada Bani-Dad was breached a little way past the northernmost ruin; a shallow sided gully ran east for a short way before descending into the plains of desolation known as the Molag Amur. Pleased that I didn’t have to walk all the way to the coast and cut around the volcanic ridge, I quickly set off along the defile and cut south until I came to the northern ruins.

This had once been a place of power and majesty, I thought as I surveyed the ruin. The harsh weather and passage of untold years hadn’t been kind to the exterior ~ but the remains of a magnificent bridge spanning two rocky outcrops and the stumps of two statues that had been eroded by time showed that this had been a place of some significance. Presumably, the bridge had once run to an entrance in the side of one of the towers but millennia had compressed and compacted the soft dust of the region into impassable rock blocking the end of the bridge. That left the lower access door.

Once sheltered from the excesses of the weather by the bridge, this too showed signs of intense wear. However, the Dwemeric runes were still visible on the door’s surface ~ spelling out Druscashti. Not the place I was looking for. You remember how I said that I am sometimes too curious for my own good? Well, this was one of those times. The opulence of the exterior spoke of the possibility of some great riches inside, or at least something I could turn to my advantage or profit. Unlimbering my axe, I headed inside.

Those of you who’ve been inside a Dwemeri ruin know exactly what they’re like inside; those of you who have not cannot conceive of the weight of ages and the wonders that can be found inside. There are also perils, as I was soon to discover.

My first intimation that there was something wrong was the strapping Nord I found wandering the corridor at the base of the entryway stairs. He was clad in the fashion of his people: heavy furs and tanned leather. I approached warily, hoping against hope that he was not a bandit that had decided to make Druscashti his lair. For some reason, even when he laid eyes on me, he made no response or move to attack. Emboldened, I stepped in front of him and said, “What are you doing here Nord?”

“Muhhh,” he said in a dazed voice. Other than that, he seemed totally oblivious to my presence. Even when I waved my hand in front of his eyes, he didn’t seem bothered. I backed away; concerned that he might have some disease. His head turned slowly to follow me but that seemed to be the limit of his interest in the matter.

Keeping a wary eye on him, I took a quick glance around to get my bearings. In front of me, a flight of steps led down to a lower level; behind me a similar flight of stairs led to a landing that was obviously filled with the rubble of some long-ago rock fall. To my right was the way back out while, to my left, a short corridor led away into Druscashti, tuning sharply just a short distance away. It was the short corridor that I picked, as I didn’t wish to descend into the lower reaches of Druscashti until I knew what was going on here.

I quickly came to a junction: the passageway in front of me ending in a pair of double doors while another corridor led off to another area. Just to add to my confusion, yet another corridor led off this one a short distance ahead. My indecision was broken by the sound of shuffling footsteps. As I readied myself for battle, an Argonian shuffled around the corner. Like the Nord I’d encountered earlier, he was supremely uninterested in my presence and, as I stood there, he shuffled past me without making any sign of seeing me. Just like the Nord, the Argonian seemed to be the very epitome of good health, just… disconnected in some way.

Rather more warily now, I took the route the Argonian had come from, pressing myself close against the walls and moving with every ounce of stealth I could muster. Peering around the corner, I could just make out a large open area at the end of the short length of corridor. There seemed to be someone moving about in the chamber and I assumed it was another of these dazed folk. That turned out to be a big mistake.

“RAURGH!” the Imperial roared as I stepped into the room. His eyes flashed in the darkness, not so much reflecting light as burning with a fire of their own. If that hadn’t been enough to tell me what it was I faced, the rapidly lengthening canine-teeth removed any doubt. My axe hummed through a short and vicious arc, neatly separating the vampire from the crown of his head. Even this gruesome wound was not enough to slow the vampire down as he slashed at me with fingers suddenly turned into talons.

Ducking under his raking claws, I slammed the butt-end of the axe handle under his chin, using the wooden shaft as a lever to force him away from me. As his head tipped back there was an unpleasant splashing sound and the vampire crumbled to dust in front of my eyes. Breathing heavily, I took a look around to make sure the sound of combat hadn’t attracted others of his kind. What I saw was enough to convince me that I had stumbled into the lair of a vampire clan.

This chamber was obviously a feeding place; the midden piles of crumbling and recent bones were enough to make that obvious. The vampire I’d faced had been powerful enough, after the fashion of it’s kind but had lacked the bestial power of the truly ancient vampire. That meant that there were other vampires, including an Ancient, somewhere in this mausoleum. And that was not a comforting thought.

I could, just possibly, hold my own against a fully-fledged vampire such as the one I’d faced in Shallit ~ maybe even against two. I might even be able to take on an Elder vampire, one whose span of un-life had seeped it in evil and power. But against an Ancient? I would stand about as much chance against that power as a child armed with a stick would against a Knight of Cyrodiil. I knew, from the few things I’d read about the Clans of the Illiac Bay, that Ancients abhorred even the slightest hint of sunlight and were often found in the deepest, darkest crypts and caves. If there were deep dwellings under Druscashti, that’s where the Ancient would be.

And that’s where I would most definitely not be venturing. Moving swiftly, I traced my route back to the entrance and walked into that most unwelcome of things when one is dealing with the Undead. My stay in Sha-Adnius had obviously been longer than I’d thought for, as I slung open the twin doors and stepped outside, I could see the lowering sun just clearing the low ridges. Evening was fast approaching, and evening was the time the vampires would be out in force.

Time was against me. Sooner or later another vampire would enter the feeding chamber and notice the dust of it’s former associate. It would know that one of the living had been in the lair ~ and I would then become the subject of the night’s hunt. I doubted I could make the other ruin in time and, even if I did, there was no guarantee that I’d be able to secure it against a vampiric hunting pack. Heading out across the ash-wastes or back into the Foyada Bani-Dad was just as futile ~ even if I could reach Sha-Adnius, it would be full dark before I got there… if I got there. No, just as I was running out of time, I was running out of options.

Even now, many centuries later, I do not wish to speak of it. The bitter fighting in the long dark beneath the ruins; the running, the screaming, the fear, and the fire as I unleashed spell after spell against the unspeakable evils that I found there. And of the final chaotic fight against the cackling ancient malignancy that drove and mastered the Clan I wish to speak of not at all. I count myself lucky that I survived relatively unscathed and, if I wake every so often screaming as long buried memories bubble to the surface, it is a small price to pay knowing that evil was cleansed from Druscashti by axe, and sword, and flame.

I slept not at all that night, shivering as I sat bloodied and shaken by a small fire outside the ruins. The doors to that place I warded with spells powerful and dire, draining myself of magicka in case I had left some vestige of that black sin unburned.

[minque]

Incredibly strong parts here, there are no words left to say ....except of course


S.G.M[u][/u]

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I welcomed the morning sun with outstretched arms, feeling it’s growing heat burning the night’s chills from my bones. Sparing a little water, I washed away the gore that had dried on my skin and surveyed those few treasures I’d picked up. Packing away those things I thought valuable, and could easily carry, I piled the rest up for any passer-by to take. Hopefully, in this manner, the aura of evil that clung to them like a foul stench would be spread far and wide.

Cleansed and made respectable once more, I shouldered my now much heavier pack and followed the faint trails southwards towards the second ruins. This time I was right on the money, the runes cut into the door cleared spelled out Bthungthumz. I entered the ruins with a good deal less insouciance than I had Druscashti ~ once bitten, twice shy as they say.

Bthungthumz was a much smaller place than Druscashti or, at least, the accessible areas of the ruin were smaller. Like the vampire-infested mausoleum to the north, Bthungthumz had suffered from repeated rock falls and these choked off many of the side passages and chambers. Not that the diminutive nature of the ruin made it any less hazardous. There were several of the Type I animalcules ~ what I'd taken to calling 'Spiders'. These particular models seem to have been modified in the past: instead of relying on their razor-sharp metal legs to attack, these spat a sort of venomous cloud. Perhaps these were some sort of experimental model? Whatever the case, the supply of poison seemed very limited and the range of the modified attack very short.

There was a Type III in the ruin too, although this one had certainly seen better days. The entire left 'leg' of the 'Mace-Man' was faulty, slowing the already ponderous machine to a crawl. Standing as far away from it as possible, I peppered the thing with arrows until, hitting something vital, I 'killed' it. In the small chamber off the room with the bubbling pit of molten rock where I'd defeated the Mace-Man, I met my first Dwemer.

Or, more specifically, the shade of one. Man tall and bearded, the phantasmal Mer extended its hands and launched a fire-based spell at me. I flinched as the powerful spell splashed against the wall ~ even as it did, the ghost was launching another spell. The ghost seemed disinclined to close for combat and I was able to dodge the incoming fire. For a race that didn't use magic, the spectral Dwemer certainly seemed to have a range of powerful spells at its disposal. I had brought Umbra with me, strapped across the back of my pack: I knew it was possible to soul-trap ghosts and I was determined to find out if the shade of a Dwemer could be trapped in the same fashion. Placing my pack on the floor, I undid the straps that secured the black sword and hefted it experimentally.

As the almost constant stream of spells faltered, I launched myself around the corner and swung the massive blade. There was an odd, tugging sensation as the blade passed through the apparition and a sparkling mist sprang up around the point of impact. The Mer staggered, what appeared to be a look of consternation passing across its semi-transparent features. Again Umbra scythed through the figure, tugging streamers of ectoplasmic matter from it as the mist thickened. Once more I swung the ebon blade, this time the spectral figure threw up its arms and dissolved into a cloud of sparkling motes.

Once again I felt that sensation of heat in my pouch, what I was coming to recognise as an indication that a Soul-stone had received the essence of what I'd killed. The other thing of interest was the faint metallic clatter as the ghost disintegrated. Brushing aside the dust of its passing, I quickly located a small and ornate ring. Many magical rings sing with a pure note of magicka; this one was a chorus. The spells, if such they were, woven into the ring were incredibly powerful and totally alien to me. Scooping it up, I turned my attention to the rest of the room.

Finding little of interest, I used my stronghold ring to return to Tel Vahl where I found Raissu Asserbas waiting for me.

"Muthsera Vahl," she said, "I have some news for you. An alchemist has arrived, Gorven Menas by name, seeking permission to establish a shop and house here. I have given permission for him to find a site but told him that you will be the final arbiter."

"That's fine Raissu," I said. "You have my authority to approve the ordering of my estate. I only ask that you seek permission from me for any Imperials who seek to establish residence, and that you do not make any alterations inside the Tel without my permission. Other than that, you have my full confidence."

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Baladas certainly gave me a lot to think about today when I delivered his ring to him. He insisted on rewarding me for fetching the ring, despite the fact that I hadn't gone with the intention of gaining any rewards. The first part of his reward was a ring, enchanted with a powerful spell that would call down lightning on my enemies; the second part of my reward was an ancient volume entitled 'The Use of Ioun Stones: A Practical Treatise'. This, he assured me, was the definitive work on these ancient and powerful charms, detailing as it did the use of Ioun Stones, how to create certain of the rarer and more powerful stones, and a brief description of the powers and abilities of some of those powerful stones. But, even this largess wasn't enough for Master Baladas.

"Outside, you will find something I have been working on for a while." Indicating the Type II animalcule that was currently rolling around the end of the chamber he said, "I have had a chance to repair and improve that. And, while I was at it, I had a chance to repair another Blade-Sphere. That repaired and improved Blade-Sphere will be waiting for you outside Arvs-Drelen when you leave. It has limited intelligence I'm afraid ~ just enough to follow simple orders like 'FOLLOW', 'STAY', or 'GO'. I took the liberty of giving it the location of your tower so it will return there if told to leave you.

Ignoring my profuse thanks, he turned serious, "Now we have a matter of great moment to discuss. Master Aryon seeks to elevate you to the rank of Master in the belief that he will gain a valuable ally on the Council. Some time ago, you intimated to me that such blind loyalty could not be guaranteed. Is that still the case Sudhendra Vahl?"

"Good," he said when I told him I had serious doubts about Aryon's plans to integrate Great House Telvanni with the Empire. "There is a rank other than Master you can aspire to. When you are asked if you are willing to accept a promotion, ask to be promoted to the rank of Magister."

"Magister?" I asked.

"Yes, it's a rank that hasn't been used for some fifteen hundred years but it cannot be refused to any Telvanni that seeks it," he explained. "There is only one duty that goes with the rank: duel and kill the current Arch-Magister and take his place."

I felt my knees come unhinged, and I sat suddenly. Baladas grinned, obviously understanding the depth of my response. “I know the whole concept comes as a shock,” he said, “but I’d like you to think about it. Gothren is, I’m afraid, not the right Mer to lead the House for much longer. Because of the rules that govern the House, none of the existing Masters can take the title of Magister and challenge Gothren. There are others, within the House, who might be persuaded to take the title but you are, I’m convinced, the right person for the job. I won’t pressure you, you must make up your own mind ~ but it’s something I’d like you to consider.”

As I made my slow way down the corridor of Arvs-Drelen, my mind was awhirl. What Master Demnevanni was offering was nothing less than complete and total control of Great House Telvanni ~ and not just the Telvanni here on Vvardenfell, oh no. Total, complete, absolute control of all Telvanni-held territory here on Vvardenfell and in the surrounding Province. I had entertained ambitions to rise to a high rank in the Great House but Baladas’ ambition for me was far greater than I had dared envisage.

My musings were interrupted by a rumbling sound, and I realised that the ‘Shock Centurion’ (as Master Baladas called his latest creation) had approached me. What was it he’d said to me? Oh yes.

“Go Home,” I instructed the thing. There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the animalcule extended what appeared to be a dish made of fine wire from its head. This dish turned as though seeking something before folding up and sinking back into the artfully hidden recess. Rotating on its base, the Shock-Centurion folded itself down into a ball and trundled off. As it started to accelerate, I was treated to the entertaining sight of a huge Orcish legionnaire being forced to dive out of the way of the sphere as it thundered past him with no intention of slowing down or altering its course. I couldn’t help smiling as I considered the impact it would have along the route back to Tel Vahl.

That was to be the last happy moment on this particular day. I was buried deep in thought throughout the whole ‘strider journey to Ald’ruhn: contemplating what Master Demnevanni had told me about the rank of Magister. I had begged him not to mention the possibility to anyone else, once I had an understanding of the rules governing the position, while I considered his offer. Even after the shock of his suggestion, he’d been able to surprise me further by presenting me with news that another Master of the House was willing to provide me with support and backing if I took on the rank of Magister.

My thoughts were all a-jumble when I arrived in Ald’ruhn, and the walk up the steep path towards Ghostgate didn’t help to sort them out. However, the physical presence of the mystically powered barrier soon made itself felt. At first, you noticed a deep silence fall over the area ~ unless they are diseased, no creature will approach the Ghostfence. Then, as you advanced further along the path, you begin to notice the dust dancing in strange whorls and patterns: at the same time you become aware of the deep basso rumble of the Fence itself.

Tall, was my first thought on espying the Ghostfence itself. Huge pylons of stone rose from the bare rock, towering high overhead. From the top of each pylon extended massive copper rods: it was from these that the swirling mist of the Ghostfence itself was extruded. The Fence itself almost defies description looking, as it does, no more substantial than a spring mist. However, as you draw closer and the sheer power of it settles into your bones and makes your teeth vibrate, you begin to discern flickering patterns sweeping across the vast expanses between the pylons. Actually touching the Fence is impossible, eldritch forces buffet and hammer the very air within a few feet of the Fence itself ~ anyone foolish enough to make physical contact would be thrown away like so many leaves in a winter’s storm.

Head down, drowning in the throbbing hum of the Ghostfence; I trudged along the path that runs beside it for a way. Rational thought, indeed any thought, is almost impossible that close to this edifice to power. None too soon, the path turned away from the side of the Fence, descending steeply away until the hammer of sound became a faint but disconcerting bone-rattling hum again. At the foot of the path, a broad canyon swept up the mountainside back towards the Ghostfence. At the top stood the twin towers of Ghostgate itself.

Cupolas of weathered bronze capped the simple round towers, the spikes at their peaks sparking and crackling with the power of the Fence which rose magnificently on either side of the canyon ~ pylons of enormous size denoting where the Fence ended. Between the towers stood a simple gate, albeit of gargantuan size. A stone plinth stood before this awe-inspiring iron gate and, set upon it was a simple switch. This, I immediately understood, would open the outer gate and allow one to enter the dark tunnel that stretched between the towers. Partway down the tunnel was another plinth adorned with another switch. This would obviously open the gate that capped the other end of the tunnel.

Pressing my face between the bars, I peered along the tunnel and caught the tiniest glimpse of the Red Mountain region beyond. Black and glassy the steep slope looked, rising up sharply to block out any sight of the mountain beyond. There was something about that simple slope, something that made me shiver and turn away.

Inside the fortress-shrine, I was directed to Ralyn Othravel: although I’d known he was an Ordinator from my questions downstairs, it was still a shock to see that golden armour wrapped around the huge Mer. He indicated a willingness to speak with me, so I launched into the conversation. “I am given to understand that you have an ebony bow,” I said. “I have some valuable treasures here and wondered if you’d be willing to trade…”

“No,” he said flatly. I was surprised, surprised enough not to read the warning signs on his face

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“But Muthsera Indoril,” I said, opening my bulging pack, “I have glass armour, an Ebony blade, magical rings of great power and worth, I even have Ioun…”

“I said no, you blathering N’wah,” he snapped, emphasising his point by shoving his mace in my chest and pushing me away.

“But…” I started to remonstrate. Something inside Ralyn Othravel seemed to snap: with a roar of sheer fury, he swung the heavy, Dwemer-looking mace at my head ~ clearly intent on separating it from my neck. “Oblivion!” I yelled, leaping backwards.

I desperately tried to calm the insensate Ordinator but he was past any rational discourse. To make matters worse, he was now between me and any way of leaving this upstairs area ~ blocking my way to the stairs and pressing me back towards a corner. I could see no other way out of this than…

“Vomica cruor” I snapped, grasping his arm. The lethal spell caught and his eyes bulged as his internal temperature sky-rocketed. But there was something very wrong here. I’d used this ghastly spell three times now; because of its sheer power I tend to leave it as something to be used as a last resort. On the previous occasions, the results had been immediate and catastrophic for those unfortunate souls I’d used it on. Indoril Othravel was still trying to hit me with his mace despite the agony etched on his face. Indeed, I took a hard blow to the chest while I stood there in shock.

Finally, inevitably, the spell wreaked its bloody work on the Mer, tearing him up inside until he could stand no more. I was shaken by the experience; I had never seen anyone so enraged before. The Ebony bow, when I finally calmed myself enough to take it from the table, seemed barely worth the destruction of a fine warrior ~ even one with such a temper.

I left the Ghostgate saddened and distressed. I had examined the ebon bow carefully and could find no trace of any spell or enchantment upon it. I had tried to draw the bow, but the thick ebony shafts meant that I could barely add any tension to the fine golden wire. I couldn’t understand why Ralyn Othravel had become so enraged simply by my offer to trade for it. Certainly, it was worth an absolute fortune but I had been sure that, after some haggling, we would have arrived at a mutually agreeable price. Could it have been simply because I was an ‘Outlander’ ~ was that what had made him loose his temper like that?

So wrapped up was I in these questions that it was only when the shadow of the cliff fell on me that I realised I’d taken a wrong turning as I walked down the mountain and wandered into this dead-end gully. The only thing of interest was the arched doorway to a tomb. The cartouche of which read LHEROS. So this was it, the tomb of the master smith Lheros. Since I was here, venturing inside wouldn’t be too time consuming.

An hour later I collapsed on the threshold of the tomb, panting and battered, looking at the two rings I’d recovered from within. It was little wonder that those pupils who’d ventured to the tomb to pay their respects had never returned. The sepulchre was crawling, almost literally, with assorted Daedra. From the relatively easy to deal with Scamp, through creatures I didn’t even have a name for, to the Winged Twilights, Golden Saints, and Dremora Lords. The rings sang with pure magic, but I was unable to determine what the enchantments did other than that they were some form of enhancement spell. I’d had a bad enough day and certainly wasn’t going to slip an unidentified ring onto my finger ~ let alone two.

I’d taken a few other treasures from the tomb, including an apprentice scroll and a large number of ingots. These went into my pack along with the rings, making the damn thing almost too heavy to carry. With a sigh, I slipped the stronghold ring on my finger and found myself standing in the bedchamber of Tel Vahl. The empty chest at the bottom of the bed took the majority of the items from my pack and, after flinging it into a corner; I flung myself onto the bed. Sleep was hard to come by: Master Demnevanni had given me much to think about and I deeply regretted the death of the Indoril Othravel.

[OverrideB1]

Dawn greeted me as I left the tower and stood in the dusty vale of Uvirith's Grave. I couldn’t help but notice that there was a small growth at the side of my tower and another conical growth a little way away from it. Raissu was quick to explain that the growth abutting my tower was going to be her abode while the free standing growth (which was actually a modified root-stem from my own tower) was to be Menas’ alchemy store.

“And that is…” I asked, pointing to the deep rectangular pit that had been started off to the south of the tower.

“The mercenary barracks,” she said. “I’ve put Kallin Basalius in charge of arranging that. She’s got some stone mason in from Balmora to build the barracks.” Anticipating my next question, she added, “Kallin is off exploring the area around here for any more bandit hideouts and to scout out the area. Apparently she’s not too happy about the way these hills block the view of the approaches to the tower.”

“Show her this,” I said, quickly sketching the watchtower I’d seen at Bal Isra. “See if she can incorporate something like this into the defences.”

Raissu gave me a quick smile and assured me it would be taken care off. Feeling that the development of Tel Vahl was in good hands, I translocated to Tel Branora to speak to Mistress Therana.

“I don’t want this,” she snapped, glaring at the Ebony bow I’d given her. I’d felt a strange reluctance to hand it over but I reasoned that was why I was there so I’d given it her. “It stinks of Ash Yams. And I hate the smell of Ash Yams.” I winced as the valuable bow clattered into the corner.

“If I give you money,” she said, winking at me slyly, “will you go away?” I assured her that I would, knowing that any discussion of support for my promotion would be worthless given her current mood. She giggled like a little girl and handed me a bag she claimed contained five thousand Septims.

I left Therana’s chambers at speed: whatever else the bag contained it wasn’t money and I certainly wasn’t going to open the bag and give her a chance to realise her mistake. From the bulk and heft of it, it was armour of some kind ~ very, very heavy armour. I was prepared for just about anything other than the grey metal that greeted my eyes when I opened the sack. With trembling fingers I picked out a heavy cuirass made of the same grey/black metal as worn by Divayth Fyr. Strange designs were picked out on the surface in deep reds and crimsons and a heavy leather tabard hung from the bottom, front and back, to protect the legs. A matching pair of greaves was the other item in the sack. And both of them sang with high-grade magic.

Sloughing the Bonemold, I struggled to lift the massive cuirass onto my shoulders. There was no way on Tamriel that I could use this, but I just had to see how it felt to wear it.

“Here, let me help you,” a female guard said, taking the cuirass from me. She was wearing what appeared to be the top half of an animalcule and the head of one too. I’d seen this before, on my visit to the councillors of the Redorans and had learned it was Dwemeric armour. Almost as heavy as the Daedric armour she was helping me into, so she certainly didn’t lack for strength.

As the heavy metal settled around my shoulders I was aware of a very odd sensation. For the briefest of instants I was almost crushed under the descending weight yet, once it was in place, it was as though I was wearing no armour at all. I took several tentative steps, expecting to be on my knees after the first couple, however it was as though the cuirass didn’t exist.

“A feather spell!” I exclaimed delightedly. All modesty forgotten, I quickly unlaced the chitin greaves and threw them down alongside the Bonemold cuirass. It was a struggle to get the heavy armour into place but, to my continued delight, they too were ensorcelled with a constant feather spell. This armour was a work of art, whichever enchanter had created these items had been a master at his craft: exquisitely balancing the spell so that it perfectly counteracted the weight of the armour. As for worth, I couldn’t even begin to guess, the armour alone and without enchantments was worth more money than I could imagine. As it was, I was frightened to even speculate.

Throwing my travel-worn cloak over my shoulders, I spoke the words that would open a passageway to Sadrith Mora. From there, I chartered a vessel that would take me up to Tel Aruhn. When the ‘Elf-Skerring’ dropped me at the docks in Tel Aruhn, my first thought was that I was in the wrong place. The sight of the massive stone door set into the mountainside soon dispelled that thought. Despite the mass, the door swung open easily enough and I stepped into a winding corridor that delivered me to the other side of the mountain. Gothren’s stronghold rose up from the side of the mountain, the top of the tower hidden from the other side of the island by the mountain-peak.

I narrowed my eyes as I walked through the slave-market that thrived near the stone door. While I understood perfectly that slavery was legal in Morrowind Province, such blatant displays made me distinctly uneasy. It was also an indicator of the Arch-Magister’s nature. Of all the Telvanni sites I’d visited, only Neloth and Gothren openly promoted the sale of slaves. Therana had her slaves, but no market selling them, while I hadn’t seen a single slave at Tel Vos, Arvs-Drelen, Tel Fyr, or Tel Mora. Of course, I hadn’t fully explored any of the Tels except Master Aryon’s so I might be making a mistake about that.

“Senise Thindo?” the House guard replied to my question. “She’s a retainer of Gothren’s, you’ll probably find her in the living quarters atop the tower.”

That took me closer to Arch-Magister Gothren than I liked. Perhaps I was being paranoid, but I couldn’t avoid the feeling that people were watching me rather more closely than they normally would. Perhaps it was simply that I was a stranger in a place that strangers rarely visit, and I really hoped that was the case
.
Senise Thindo turned out to be much younger than I expected, barely out of her teens. She greeted me amiably enough, only developing a frown when I told her why I was there. Moving possessively in front of a chest of drawers, she said, “Who are you here on behalf of?”

“Does that really matter?” I asked, maintaining a friendly attitude.

She shook her head. “I suppose not,” she said, “but I’d be willing to wager money that it’s Neloth. That greasy pig has been trying to get his hands on the Robe of The Drake’s Pride since my mother left it to me.” My heart sank; I’d been hoping that the robe would be easy to obtain after my experiences with Othravel and the Ebony bow. To find out it was the final gift of a dying mother was a bitter blow.

Not all was lost though. I had noticed a large number of Soul Stones scattered around and quickly confirmed that Senise was a trainee enchanter. Although it grieved me to do so, I made her an offer. “Look,” I said, “I will make no bones about this; I’m here for the robe and I mean to get it. I’d much rather not have to resort to bloodshed if it can be avoided. So, here’s the deal. You give me the robe and I will give you this ring.”

She looked at the ring critically as I took it off and dropped it in her outstretched hand. Suddenly she stiffened and examined the silvery metal more closely. “Is this real?” she asked tremulously.

“Yes,” I confirmed, “that is the Mentor’s Ring.”

“You’re willing to trade this for my robe? The ring is worth much more than the robe ~ simply for its provenance.” I confirmed that I was willing to trade one for the other. With a nod, she slipped the ring onto her finger, her face flushing as the power it conferred coursed through her. Turning, she slid open the topmost drawer of the chest and fetched out a carefully wrapped package. Cutting the twine, she opened the waxed paper parcel and took out a green robe.

“Why are you laughing?” she asked, somewhat crossly.

“I was just trying to imagine Neloth wearing that,” I spluttered.

Senise looked at the green robe, taking in the fine golden chains across the part that would expose the wearer’s midriff; the raised and filigreed collar; the flare of fabric falling in pleats from the waistband of the garment. She started to chuckle. Soon we were both helpless with laughter, drawing several very strange looks from the other occupants of the tower as they passed by about their business.

With the transaction complete and the Robe of The Drake’s Pride safely back in its waxed parcel and tucked away in my pack, I again opened the way to Sadrith Mora. There was one more item I needed to collect.

Why are Bosmeri so difficult to deal with? I sometimes wonder if it’s the lack of greenery in their diet that give the whole race a collective death wish. I’d taken the same approach with Berengeval as I had with Senise Thindo: namely, offering some expensive item in exchange for the specific item I sought. Where it had worked with the young Dunmeri female, the offer seemed to enrage the Bosmer.

To cut a long and sorry tale short, I ended persuading the sawn-off runt to give me the amulet Dratha wanted with the sharp edge of an axe. He was an excellent marksman armed, as Bosmeri so often are, with a crossbow. It didn’t seem to occur to him that his shots were bouncing harmlessly off the armour beneath my robe. Rushing towards him, I closed the distance quickly enough to render his crossbow completely useless and applied a little persuasion.

[OverrideB1]

I returned to Tel Naga this morning, having spent the night at Fara’s ‘Hole-In-The-Wall’. As I expected, my reception was distinctly chilly.
“Ahh,” Neloth sneered, “the mercenary-killer. I hope you realise that every time you visit my tower I end up having to employ a new mercenary? Who have you come to kill today?”

“I’m not here to kill anyone,” I replied, biting back the obvious answer. “A robe you wanted, a robe I have.”

“Excellent,” Neloth said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “I might almost forgive you Berengeval and Engaer for this. Vares, pay our dear guest for fetching me the robe.”

Neloth’s bodyguard stepped forward, reaching for the robe as he extended a hand. My eyes widened when I saw what was being proffered, and I quickly snatched the robe out of the way. “TEN Septims,” I said in outrage. “You plan on giving me a lousy ten Septims for the robe?”

“Of course,” Neloth said calmly. “Taking into account the cost of replacing the mercenaries you’ve killed, ten Septims and my promise to consider approving your promotion is far more than fair. Never let it be said that Master Neloth is ungenerous.”

“I’ll give you some clues as to what else will be said about Master Neloth’s generosity in a minute,” I said, shaking my head at the sheer gall of the Mer. “Unless you’re going to substantially increase that offer and give me a guarantee that you’ll support me, I’ll take the robe and leave.”

“Leave then,” he hissed, “but if you do, remember that I’ll never give you my support.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to make do without your support,” I said, packing the robe into my pack and preparing to leave.

His eyes narrowed and he gripped the edge of his chair so hard that his knuckles went white. “You’ve made an enemy here this day Vahl,” he spat.

I calmed down somewhat on the boat trip to Tel Mora and, by the time I’d arrived at the docks and made my way up to Mistress Dratha’s chambers, I was able to view the situation with Neloth with a surprising degree of calm. Dratha was far more empathic than I’d given her credit for ~ which might explain the exceptionally close rapport with her Mouth.

“That is exactly what I wanted,” she said when I displayed the Amulet of Flesh Made Whole. “I do hope that fool Berengeval put up a fight. As to payment, I have here some scrolls I thought you might find useful. They’re to summon Golden Saints. Now, while that might not seem too generous a reward for obtaining such a powerful amulet, I will tell you that I have pledged my support to Master Demnevanni’s plan and will support you whether you take the rank of Master or Magister.”

So it was Dratha that Baladas had been talking about, the other Master that would support me in my promotion. I thanked her gravely. She had some additional information for me, “Gothren is old and partially blind on his left side. If you direct your attacks from that side, he’ll have a great deal of difficulty dealing with them. Of more concern are the two bound Dremora Lords that act as his bodyguards. Some artefact he has summons them on a continual basis and binds them to protecting him.

“If I were you, I would isolate each of the Dremora and deal with them one-on-one. Trying to take both of them and the Arch-Magister on at the same time would not be a good idea if you have plans to survive for long.”

It was after imparting this information that Dratha surprised me with her empathy. “You’re troubled, what is it?”

I explained the situation with Master Neloth and she started to laugh. Slightly offended, but not wishing to offend her, I raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Neloth had no intention whatsoever of supporting you,” she chuckled. “Gothren says ‘jump’ and he doesn’t even stop to ask ‘how high’. And Gothren is, of course, strongly opposed to your promotion.”

“Why is that?” I asked in alarm.

“Simple,” she responded. “You’re a protégée of Aryon’s and Aryon’s desire to forge closer ties with the Empire is well known. Arch-Magister Gothren believes that you will be the pivotal vote on the Telvanni Council, allowing Aryon to push his plans through. And that, let me assure you, is the last thing Gothren, Baladas, or I want.”

I felt I was getting into murky waters here, there were layers upon layers of House politics that I simply didn’t understand. “If you and Baladas are opposed to Aryon’s plans, why are you siding with Baladas against Gothren if Gothren is opposed to them too?”

“To put it simply,” she said, “Gothren is too old fashioned. He believes that Great House Telvanni should have no contact at all with the Empire. Aryon believes that we should open up the inner workings of the House and integrate ourselves with the Empire, like those Hlaalu are doing.

“Gothren believes that you are ‘irrevocably contaminated’ by your upbringing within the Empire. Those are his words, not mine,” she added, smiling. “Because of that, he cannot conceive of a situation where you wouldn’t work with Aryon to promote Aryon’s plan. Aryon, on the other hand,” she continued, “believes that you are strongly pro-Imperial and will, by default, approve of any plan that brings House and Empire together.”

“Both of them are wrong,” I said hotly. I was infuriated that Aryon had made such assumptions about me, even more furious that Gothren had made the same assumptions without ever meeting me.

“That’s what Baladas and I hoped you’d say,” Dratha said happily. “Tell me Serjo Vahl, if you were in the position to dictate how Great House Telvanni works with the Empire, what would you suggest?”

“I’d suggest that the House looks closely at any allegiance with the Empire,” I replied, “to see whether it benefits the House or the Imperials. Where the benefit is clearly to our advantage, we should seize the opportunity. Otherwise,” I finished, “we should leave the Empire whistling in the breeze.”

“I had so hoped for an answer like that,” Dratha said, her eyes shining. “Baladas was right about you, you are just what he and I are looking for. You see, my dear, we believe that there are great advantages to be had by complying with some Imperial edicts while defying others. Unfortunately, Baladas was unaware of my support for such an idea when he accepted Aryon’s promotion to Master. He would have made an excellent Arch-Magister.”

Dratha finished her crash-course in inter-House politics by saying, “There will be some opposition to some of the things that we do but, if you discuss them fully with us I’m sure we can bring the others around.”

I recognised the trap in that statement, and was quick to set the Meric female to rights. “If I’m Arch-Magister,” I pointed out, “I may seek your advice on some matters, but you will not be allowed to dictate Great House Telvanni policy.”

She looked at me for a very long time, and I feared that I might have overstepped the bounds of what Dratha considered polite. Finally, she nodded and smiled and I felt a great weight shift off my shoulders. “The perfectly correct response,” she said. “I look forwards to working with you… Sed Vahl.”

I left Tel Mora feeling much happier about taking the promotion than I had since the whole idea had been suggested. I was still unsure what step to take next, but I knew I had the support of two powerful people regardless of what I did. Aryon would, I was sure, come around to accepting the new status quo if I went forward with deposing Gothren. If not… well, there are ways and means of dealing with that situation if it arose. Neloth’s nose would be put out of joint if I became Arch-Magister while I seriously doubted Therana would even notice, or care. It was the thought of Neloth’s reaction that helped me decide. I loathed and detested the Mer for the way he’d behaved and I could think of no better way to repay him than cutting away his power base.

“I hereby appoint you as my Mouth,” I said to Edward Theman. “Here is your staff of office and here are five hundred Septims. For Azura’s sake, get yourself some decent clothes before you turn up in Sadrith Mora.”

Edward lived up to his nickname; leaving his hovel in Balmora so quickly I swear he left scorch-marks on the rugs. Squaring my shoulders, I spoke the words that would return me to Vos, “Ut locus Ego eram pro”.

“You want what?” Master Aryon gasped when I told him. “You want to be made Magister?”

[OverrideB1]

I confirmed that that was my intention and he gave me a slow and careful look, the sort of look that comes when someone realises that their carefully laid plans are about to go up in smoke and that you have the burning taper in your hand. I was about to speak when Aryon sighed heavily. “I knew you were ambitious Serjo Vahl, sadly I underestimated just how ambitious you are. Well, since I cannot deny you the rank, I hereby name you Magister.

“You realise, of course, that I am honour-bound to advise Gothren that you’ve taken up this rank? His response is likely to be… heavy-handed,” he said.

“So, if it were to be done,” I said, “’tis best it were done quickly.” Taking my leave of a visibly shaken Aryon, I made my way down towards the docks at Vos. Hodrim the trader was at the docks and we shared a moment or two while I waited for the boat to finish unloading. True to his word, he let me take the pick of his stock as a reward for having cured his Guar: I boarded the ship with a set of Ashlander chimes tucked into my pack.

Tel Aruhn: and it was obvious that word of my coming, and the reason for it, had spread with the usual uncanny speed. People I’d exchanged friendly words with yestere now turned away quickly, seeking other business to attend to. The House guards were spectacularly conspicuous… by being nowhere in sight. Even the lower levels of Gothren’s tower were empty ~ obviously a lot of people had suddenly remembered pressing business elsewhere. That suited me perfectly: this was unlikely to be a battle of blade against blade and, when powerful magics are being exchanged, innocent bystanders tend to get hurt.

“So,” a cold voice said, drifting down from the upper chambers as I set foot on the stairs. “You think to come and end a thousand years of my rule? Imperial upstart, did you think it would be so easy?”

There was a flicker as the two House guards, each armed with crossbows, stepped from the magical concealment that had hidden them. As they levelled their weapons at me, I sneered. Both Baladas and Dratha had been adamant on this point. “Stand aside,” I ordered. “By the absolute authority of my rank as Magister, I order you to stand aside.”

They hesitated, and I spoke calmly and clearly so that they’d be in no doubt. “You know the rules of the House. I am declared Magister and none may stand in my way.” Then, in a kindlier tone, I added, “I’d leave if I were you lads, this will be no place for you in a short time.”

“Sorry Serjo,” one of them said as they put aside their weapons and started to descend the stairs. “The Arch-Magister never told us you had the rank of Magister. He simply said that you were coming here to kill him.”

“Traitors!” the Arch-Magister screamed furiously as they made their way downstairs. “I’ll deal with you later. After I’ve dealt with this Imperial scum.”

I made no move to continue my approach for a few minutes, waiting until I’d heard the soft click of the door downstairs closing behind the soldiers. I had not jested; this was going to get nasty. Sure that the three of us were now alone in the upper chambers of the Tel, I finished ascending the stairs and stood in the short corridor that led to Gothren’s chambers. I had one clear shot and, unshipping my bow I withdrew one of the Ebony arrows I’d found at Rethan Manor, drew back on the string and took careful aim.

“Scared to finish this?” Gothren’s voice sneered. I made no reply but simply let fly with the arrow. As the enraged roar of the Dremora Lord echoed around the chamber, I dropped the bow and drew Umbra. Heavy, metal-clad feet pounded along the corridor and, like a storm the Dremora was upon me. Yellowish magic flared, and the creature was suddenly armed with a pair of Ebony axes.

Umbra crashed into the grey Daedric armour of the Dremora Lord, a thick mist sparkling with arcane power quickly obscuring the impact site. The Dremora growled ferociously but, as I easily eluded its counter strike and struck another resounding blow, I saw uncertainty in its crimson eyes. Again and again we exchanged blows, the heavy ebon blade scoring and denting the Dremora’s armour while I, for the most part, avoided the whirling Ebony war-axes my opponent wielded. Those few blows that got through tore and ripped my travelling robe but the heavy Daedric armour beneath turned them harmlessly.

With a final bestial roar, the Dremora Lord sparkled and dissolved as I landed a blow that would have killed any mortal creature. Without a moment’s hesitation, I spun to face the chamber door and intoned “Exuro meus Hostilis”

Nor was that the only fireball I blindly fired into the chamber of the Arch-Magister, two more followed in quick succession. While I had no hopes of actually hitting anything, I knew from the aggrieved shouts that the backwash of the powerful spells was causing havoc in there. And the more havoc I could cause, the better. My plan worked, I heard the Arch-Magister snarl something to his remaining bodyguard and the sound of armoured feet coming down the hallway. Pressing myself against the side of the door, I waited as patiently as a spider.

“Vomica cruor” I yelled, grabbing the heavily armoured Dremora by the arm as it burst from the doorway. As the eldritch fire of the boiling blood spell bloomed and sparked around the creature, I drove the short steel dagger into its neck and danced out of its way. I knew that the dagger and spell combined would have little effect on the Dremora other than to enrage it. It threshed around wildly, stung by my spike and baffled by the roaring fire that spat and hissed, eagerly seeking some mortal flesh it could consume. “Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata” I snapped out as it turned feral, angry eyes on me and started to advance.

The Storm Atronach hammered its fists into the Dremora, halting its advance immediately. I hoped that my spells had weakened the Dremora Lord enough ~ it was of a higher order in the hierarchy of infernal servants than the Atronach and, theoretically, should be able to defeat my Summoned easily. Now I could only hope that I’d inflicted enough damage to render the contest a little more equal. Sidestepping the two battling creatures, I flung a final spell down the corridor and raced to face Gothren himself.

As I skidded into the chamber, there was a huge flare of light and I felt something very hot and very compact flash past me and impact on the wall behind. The heat from the spell was ferocious and I realised, there and then, that exchanging combat spells with Gothren could end only one way. He’d had a millennia to hone and perfect his skills, I had but twenty-five to set against that long tale of years. In arcane combat, there would only be one outcome.

The Wish sang as it whipped through the air, startling the Arch-Magister badly enough that whatever spell he was formulating fizzled and died. With a frustrated cry, he withdrew a short dagger and lunged at me. Remembering the advice that Dratha had given me, I circled to the left and launched another attack. The blow caught Gothren high on the shoulder, making the grey-haired Mer stumble. Quickly righting himself, he raised his hands and began to mumble something as his hands wove in strange patterns in the air.

I groaned in frustration: wreathed in residual lightning and looking very battered, the Dremora Lord stood in the doorway. Desperately, I swung the Last Wish and was rewarded with a choking scream. Blood poured down the front of Gothren’s robes as he vainly tried to staunch the gaping cut that stretched from one side of his throat to the other. The Dremora stood uncertainly, it progress across the chamber halted as its master focused all of his will on fighting the injury I’d inflicted. It was a battle he was destined to loose. As Gothren sank to his knees, the Dremora Lord flickered like a mirage and suddenly vanished in a sparkle of yellow light. Simultaneously, Gothren slumped forward onto the floor and breathed his last.

Wearily, I left the chamber – bone-deep aches and pains wracking my body where the spells and weapons had caught. I needed to rest and recuperate. As attractive as the idea of just collapsing on the spot was, I managed to fumble my stronghold ring onto my finger and returned to Tel Vahl.

[OverrideB1]

My injuries now, for the most part, healed, I awoke this morning with a feeling of loss: a loss of direction. For a while now I’d been struggling up the ladder of Great House Telvanni. Having reached the top, I was unsure what I should do next. Actually, what I should do after I’d done the next thing.

“I’m sure that you will make an exceptional Arch-Magister,” Aryon said, confirming that I was now Head of House. “There are certain duties you will need to perform, from time to time, but nothing too onerous. Of course, Sed Vahl, if there’s anything I can do for you, you have but to ask.” I could almost see him rubbing his hands together with glee, sure that his ‘master plan’ was nearing fruition with me installed as Arch-Magister. There would be time enough to show him otherwise. Indeed, given the techniques he had taught me, I had at least a couple of thousand years to teach him otherwise. And that was quite a sobering thought for a twenty-five year old to have.

“…matter, Arch-Magister.” I heard him say.

“I’m sorry Aryon, what did you say?”

“I said, Llunela Hleran wishes to speak to you about an important matter, Arch-Magister,” he repeated. Nodding, I thanked him for passing on the message and made myself scarce before he started going on about bringing us closer to the Empire.

“Firstly, let me extend my congratulations to you,” Llunela said, bowing as I approached her ever-present fire. “The House has stagnated under Gothren’s rule for long enough Sed Vahl.”

“Thank you,” I said, returning the bow. Here was another that had chaffed under Gothren’s authority. Given the usually… pro-active nature of the Telvanni, I wondered what it was about the old Mer that had had everybody so cowed and willing to accept him. With his sudden and messy demise, I was never likely to know.

“We need, I think, to discuss your stronghold,” Llunela said after pouring us both a tisane and we had taken a seat by the fire. “While the stronghold is certainly suitable for a Master, it is not a worthy dwelling for someone of your rank. I had a request from Raissu Asserbas this morning, asking for a contingent of House Guards now that you’ve been promoted. How is Raissu Asserbas working out for you, by the way?”

“She’s a gods-send,” I replied happily. “Exactly what I need to run the estate while I’m off… well, erm…”

“Adventuring,” Llunela supplied with a smile. “Oh don’t worry Arch-Magister, I don’t think any of us expect you to settle down just yet.

“So,” she continued, “I will send some House guards to you, along with Tadaves Saren: a highly skilled Tekton from the Mainland. It’s Saren that’ll be in charge of expanding your Tel to something more appropriate. But I think you need something a little special. You see there are a number of Telvanni who are going to look at you and think, ‘I could beat that slip of a girl’. And that would open up a whole internecine battle within the House as various factions fought to promote or control whoever would be Arch-Magister.

“Baladas has been doing some wonderful work with animalcules lately and I think he could be persuaded to provide you with a force of them to protect your stronghold,” she said. “They’d be loyal, nobody would be able to bribe them, and it would make a definite statement to anyone who thought that they could just march in and take over your position.”

I couldn’t argue with the logic behind that and the thought of a small force of incorruptible animalcules filled me with a secret glee. There was only one small catch. “There is a book that details the secretes of Dwemeric animalcules that Master Baladas will require. The book is in a Dwemer ruin close to your stronghold: the ruin is called Galom Daeus.”

After getting Llunela Hleran to give me directions to this ruin, I used the ring to return to Uvirith's Grave. When I told Kallin Basalius where I was going, she gave me a worried look.

“I don’t want to talk out of turn,” she said carefully, “but Galom Daeus doesn’t have a very good name with the Ashlanders in that camp down south. They all clammed up like Kollops when I mentioned it to them.”

Assuring Kallin that I would take great care, I followed Llunela’s directions to the Dwemer ruins. After an hour or so of walking through the blasted wastelands around my stronghold, I finally caught sight of the ruins: the towers rising up against the skyline on the other side of a lake of bubbling, molten rock. There was a small rocky path leading around the lava-pit, following this I quickly came to the heavy iron doors of the ruins. There was a good deal of scuffing in the dust before the door, but not enough to disguise the presence of footprints leading in and out of Galom Daeus. When I entered, I would not be alone.

I had feared that Galom Daeus was the home to a group of bandits who’d moved in to take advantage of the increased traffic near my stronghold. The reality was much, much worse. The patrolling vampire was not expecting me and I, forewarned by the marks outside, was expecting someone. Just not a vampire. As I crouched in the shadows at the top of the stairs, I saw the leather-clad figure moving around: the instant I caught sight of those glowing eyes I knew what it was I faced. Carefully knocking an arrow, I took aim at the doorway at the bottom of the stairs and waited for the undead woman to pass by again.

The arrow flew straight and true, unfortunately my aim was not as good as I would have wished. With a meaty thud, the arrow lodged itself in the woman’s shoulder. With a bestial snarl, she turned to face me. Sometimes I wonder at whatever power it is that rules my life, to say it is capricious would be a major understatement. For, as the woman turned, her foot caught on the lip of the lava-pit that dominated the room and, with a despairing shriek, she staggered backwards ~ blooming into flame even before she struck the roiling surface of the molten rock.

Knowing that she’d been a lesser vampire and that such creatures tended to travel in packs, it was with extreme caution that I made my way around the room and to the corridor that led deeper into the ruins. A grate of some dark metal stretched away from me down the corridor, which took a sharp right turn some thirty paces away. Beneath the grating more of that molten rock steamed and hissed. I was sweating profusely by the time I reached the corner: moving across the grate without making a sound proved difficult and taxing. The intense heat from the lava below didn’t help much. Peering around the corner revealed a short flight of stairs and another length of corridor.

Placing my bow back atop my pack, I drew out the Dwemeric axe and gripped the handle tightly. With as much stealth as I could muster ~ roughly that of a drunken Nord after a night on the mead ~ I made my way foot by careful foot down the stairs and long the passageway to the next corner. Pressing myself flat against the wall, I peered around the edge. And came nose to nose with a Cyrodiilic vampire that had caught a hint of my presence and had had the same idea!

“WAH!” we both yelled, recoiling violently.

[Alexander]

this really is writing of the upper quality, I haven't really added any comments here lately, but amazing override, thruly amazing.

and as someone mentioned elsewhere, maybe looking in to doing this for a living or something like that would be a good thing.

exceptional work.

[Wolfie]

cool story. I love the way they both get a shock when they look around the corner like that

[OverrideB1]

“Ummm,” the young Imperial said hesitantly, “I kind of don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

“And I’m pretty certain you aren’t supposed to be anywhere other than in the grave,” I replied.

“Typical,” the youth moaned. “I’ve been undead less than a year and everybody hates me. They hated me when I was alive, and now they hate me when I’m not.”

I blinked in surprise. Vampiric angst, that was precisely what I needed right now. The fledgling vampire continued, “Raxle said it’d all be different when he turned me. I’d have power and, and women, and everything I… urk!”

I coughed as the dust of the vampire I’d just beheaded settled on the floor. Really, I thought as I stepped over the youth’s final remains, I’d done him a favour. I’d certainly done the rest of the world one. His rambling discourse had done me one favour though, I now knew that I was facing a vampire clan rather than just a pack of the leeches. Vampiric packs hunted to feed, not to create new vampires ~ it was only the Clans that did that, expanding their power by creating new vampires. I shivered, I still had nightmares about the clan I’d decimated beneath Druscashti and I hoped against hope that this clan was younger than Clan Quarra.

I was faced now with a choice: directly in front of me was a round iron door, to my right was another. The door on my right bore some Dwemer runes but they were faded and difficult to read, even if they hadn’t been I wouldn’t have understood what they were telling me. However, it quickly became obvious that the choice was no choice at all ~ the door to my right was locked and the Dwemeric mechanism that secured it proved too complex for me to pick and remarkably resistant to the powers of Ondusi’s ring. That left the door directly in front of me. Licking my lips, I applied a little grease to the rusty hinges and then pulled it towards me.

The door swung open silently and would have secured me the element of surprise against the occupants had not the bare-chested Breton been looking directly at the door as it swung open. He’d been about to say something but the words died on his lips when he saw me. Grinning evilly, he vaulted effortlessly over the table in front of him and began advancing on me. Nor was that my only problem: swirling purple sparks surrounded a vampiric female at the back of the chamber as she cast some spell to enhance herself and started to stalk me too.

“What are you? Ahh, I see.” A third vampire had made its presence known, stepping from behind the thick pillar that had obscured her from my sight. Three against one: not exactly my favourite odds, even when the three weren’t slavering blood-suckers intent on my demise… or worse. I suddenly had a vivid image of myself wandering these halls with a slave-bracer clamped to my wrist ~ a handy snack for any of the Clan who felt peckish.

“Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata,” I yelled desperately as the trio moved closer. There was a familiar grinding noise and the massive frame of a Storm Atronach ripped itself free of the metal walls and stood before me. Strange lights flickered in its eyes as it glared down at me and I gulped, aware that sometimes these Summons turned on their Summoner. The greed of the vampires is probably all that saved me, the bare-chested Breton rushing to close the gap between us ahead of his female companions so he’d be the first to feed.

Massive metallic hands clamped themselves around the vampire’s head as the Atronach yanked him up and off his feet, muffled screams issuing forth as the Summoned’s power ripped into him. Shaking him like a doll, the Atronach proceeded to hammer the hapless vampire against the metal walls, each impact a knell of doom. It had the added advantage of causing the two females to slow their advance as they realised it was no helpless adventurer that had invaded their stronghold.

A hastily thrown dagger found its mark, the handle blooming from the left eye-socket of the nearest vampire. While she was occupied with rolling around on the floor and screaming, I cast a quick fireball at the third vampire and then rushed her as she tried to recover her balance. The Last Wish hummed as it travelled in a short killing arc, the curved blade burying itself in the vampire’s chest. I had been aiming for the heart but the Chitin armour had slowed the blow enough to prevent it from reaching its intended goal. Ripping the blade from her chest, the vampiress grabbed me and lunged forwards, fangs extended.

I felt a sharp prick at the throat and screamed. Unbidden, the boiling blood spell rose up in my mind as I attempted to shove the leech away from me. Then it was the vampire’s turn to scream as the spell wrapped itself around her. Shoving the rapidly blackening and threshing form away from me, I staggered to my feet ~ clutching my throat to stop the flow of blood from the twin wounds there.

The ruined face of the vampire I’d thrown the dagger at leered at me, her remaining eye glowing as she muttered some arcane cantrip. I staggered, feeling my will to resist fading as her eye grew brighter ~ the foul infection from the bite already working within me. Her smile widened as her jaw unhinged, glistening canine-teeth lengthening as she drew me closer step by staggering step. The descent of the huge metallic fist came as a real surprise to both of us. The Atronach, finding itself clutching naught but a handful of dust had turned its attention to the last remaining vampire, and its intervention certainly saved me from the proverbial fate worse than death.

As the Atronach faded from view, I bent and picked up the axe ~ swinging it in a short and final arch that decapitated the vampire easily and neatly. As the fine dust settled, I sank to my knees and gasped heavily, panting for breath. That had been a little intense… and it was about to get worse.

The door at the back of the chamber opened with a boom of metal on metal and two more vampires raced into the room, each yelling variations of “What’s going on in here?” Three piles of dust mutely answered their questions and their baleful gazes turned on me. With a heartfelt sigh, I raised myself to my feet and gripped the shaft of the axe.

“Let’s dance,” I suggested. There followed a whirlwind of motion as, drawing on reserves of strength and fortitude I didn’t know I had, I rushed at them ~ the Last Wish humming a song of death as it whirled and span in my hands. My mind is a blur about what happened next: I have recollections of severing various appendages and casting spells but there is nothing specific there. I can only suppose that fear and need blanked out all conscious thought while my survival instinct and reflexes took over.

My next clear memory is of draining a phial of restore magicka potion. The front of my robe was sodden with gore and the curve of the axe was pouring a stream of blood onto the floor. For some reason, my sword was jammed into the doorjamb of the unopened Dwemer door and a pile of gritty black dust spoke of the death of a vampire there. The atmosphere was crackling with recently discharged magic and large charred scorch marks marred the walls of the chamber. Perhaps I should rely on fear and instinct more often?

I shuddered uncontrollably as the memories of the bite came back. I fancied I could already feel the infection warping and twisting my nature. How long I had before the disease of vampirism corrupted me I didn’t know, and despair washed over me. The treasures I found in the two chambers scarcely lifted my mood, even the presence of a pair of boots in the same heavy material as my armour failed to cheer me. Although, truth be told, my depressed mood didn’t stop me from taking them, and the glass boots, and the multitude of lock-picks, probes and repair tools I found. As I sifted the fine dust of one of the vampires into a collection jar, I spotted a strangely wrought key.

The complex Dwemer lock clicked as I twisted the key and the heavy iron doors swung open. In the yellowish glow of the Dwemer lights a short corridor was revealed, terminating in a large circular chamber. Beside a workbench in this chamber stood an elderly Cyrodiilic male.

“So you’ve killed all my children have you?” the Man said, turning to face me. “Well, Clan Berne isn’t destroyed yet ~ I have aeons to rebuild and replenish. And I fancy I’ll start with you.” He stepped forward, eyes burning brightly. “Although I see you’re already well on your way to becoming one of us,” he leered.

“Not in this lifetime vampire,” I spat.

“For three hundred years I stalked the streets of Camlorn,” Berne said, “until those blasted vampire-slayers came. Gathering the remains of the Clan I came here. And some chit of a Dark Elf female isn’t going to stop me.” His shoulders hunched and there came a tenebrous creaking noise as his head dropped. I stepped back, as the vampire elder seemed to swell, growing taller and broader. There was nothing remotely mortal about his face when he looked up ~ huge fangs protruding from a cavern of a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, nose flattened, and forehead bulging. From beneath the shelf of his brow, his feral eyes gleamed with a luminous red light and the desire for death and destruction.

Snarling, he rushed at me ~ all claws, fangs, and the need to feed. My axe hammered into him as he came, the back and forth blow barely slowing him. Whipping the Wish up, I brought it down hard on the spot where his thick, studded armour met his muscular neck. He howled, throwing his head back ~ allowing me the time to step back and draw my Ebony blade from its scabbard. Furious, scared senseless, desperate, I drove forward with the blade, embedding it in his black heart and forcing him, teeth snapping, backwards towards the wall of the chamber. With a thump, he struck the wall and I braced myself, working the blade deeper and deeper until I felt the point grating on metal.

“NO!” he screamed. “THIS CANNOT BE. I AM RAXLE BERNE. I AM…” The soft patter of dust on the floor prevented me from hearing what he thought he was ~ his sudden dissolution catching me unawares and causing me to pitch forward into the wall. Ears ringing and various constellations whirling about my head, I staggered backwards and sat down ~ suddenly and undignified.

I let out a weak laugh of triumph that dissolved into a series of sobbing cries. Shakily, the storm past, I rose to my feet and staggered over to the workbench. Using it to support myself, I took a while to adjust to the fact that I was still standing and, for the moment, still alive. How long that state of affairs would continue remained to be seen. My prize, a thick and antique volume, lay on the work bench: the dust of ages thick on its cover.

Blowing the accumulated dust of the ruins and Raxle Berne off it, I picked it up and opened it. Page after page of bizarre drawings annotated with spidery Dwemeric script greeted me. I skimmed though the book, coming at last to the final page. Sparkling script in yellow ink caught my eye and I felt a hammer-like blow to the head. Screaming, clutching my eyes as cold, soulless sounds in a language long forgotten thundered in my mind, I dropped the book and sank to my knees. “Please,” I begged, “no more.”

I don’t know if the power that watches over me heard, or whether whatever I had triggered ran its course, but the thunderous sounds came to an abrupt end. Shakily, I reached out and picked up the book, flinching when I saw that it was still open to the final page. A blank page. Frantically, I flipped over the heavy, greasy feeling parchment ~ page after page of drawings and notes but not a trace of the strange yellow text.

Bone-weary, I staggered from the ruins, wincing as the sun struck my bare flesh. Everything seemed too bright and too hot despite the fact it was after the noon hour. Dragging my pack through the dust, I staggered back the way I’d come. Never has the sight of my Tel been more welcome than when I crested the final hill and weaved my way down the slope. Kallin Basalius and Raissu Asserbas saw me and came running towards me.

“Here, let me take that,” Raissu said, taking the strap of my pack from my unresisting hand. “My Gods, you look terrible.”

“Get the apothecary,” Kallin snapped, taking the bag from Raissu.

“What?” Raissu said.

“Quickly,” Kallin hissed. “Can’t you see she’s been bitten?”

Clapping her hand to her mouth, Raissu raced off towards the stronghold while Kallin, supporting my weight helped me walk the last couple of hundred yards. The apothecary, Gorven Menas, was waiting for us when we drew near. Walking over, he examined my eyes and checked the inside of my mouth. “You were quite right Kallin,” he said sombrely, “definitely suffering from the vampiric disease. Drink this Arch-Magister,” he said, pressing a small silver and glass flask into my hand. I drank deeply, feeling the corruption withering and dying as the potion restored and reinvigorated me.

“In its early stages,” the apothecary told me as I returned the handsome flask, “vampirism can be treated like any common disease. A simple potion, scroll, or spell will fix you right up. The disease takes fully three days to irrevocably corrupt…”

“You mean I could have cured myself at any time with a spell I know well?” I wheezed in amusement, interrupting him. He nodded, and I laughed aloud. Not that I had any intentions of tangling with another vampire Clan, like ever, but it was good to know that I had the means to prevent myself from joining their undead ranks. Kallin helped me into the tower and guided me towards the bed. Gratefully, I collapsed onto the soft mattress and relaxed.

[Aki]

[quote=OverrideB1]
“WAH!” we both yelled, recoiling violently.[/quote]
^
That = funny.

Great work as always Overribe, keep it up... :goodjob: