The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Part 2 Options

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The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl : Part Two
The Dunmer at the next table were discussing the haunting at the Gateway Inn, and complaining that they were being forced to curtail their business in Sadrith Mora since there was nowhere for them to stay. I remembered Prefect Angaredhel saying something about one of the Telvanni representatives looking into the problem. Perhaps I should look into it myself ~ and this Arara Uvulas seemed like a good place to start. I finished up my drink and headed down to the slave-market. Nodding to a couple of very muscular House Telvanni guards, I crossed the bridge towards the Council House. I say “bridge”, actually, it looked more like a root that had been flattened out on top and had coincidentally joined the Council Hall to the side of the cliff. (It would take quite a while before I got used to Telvanni “architecture”).

Inside the cool and dark building, a well-dressed Dunmer woman directed me to the council chamber. Behind the round wooden door was a large, circular chamber. The centre of the chamber was dominated by a massive crystal growth ~ from which a strange bluish-green light and a faint humming noise emanated. Around the outer radius of the chamber were a number of platforms, raised about head-height from the floor. On all but two of these stood well-dressed and aloof-looking Dunmer: the representatives of the Telvanni Council. Actually, it’s a little more complex than that, but I’ll try to clarify the status quo as I go on).

“Yes, I investigated the haunting at the Gateway,” the dark-haired Arara Uvulas said in response to my question. “At first it seemed like a traditional manifestation, even though the Gateway is a relatively new building and has no history of foul murder or dirty deeds. Nor, indeed, is it built on any known burial ground or religious site. I performed the standard exorcism, which seemed to work at the time. However, I’d barely left the chamber when the ghost came back again.

“I’ve tried several rituals and incantations since, but none of them work for more than a moment or two. I am, quite frankly, at a loss to explain why this spirit keeps reappearing and am beginning to suspect that there is some malicious intent behind it. A conjuration expert perhaps? However, I’m interested in why you’re interested.”

I couldn’t really explain why I was interested, and mumbled something about studying the application of magic. That seemed to arouse her interest in me even more, and she asked me to stay right where I was while she conferred with her fellow representatives. I didn’t see the harm in that, and stood there while they all closed their eyes and somehow spoke to each other. Don’t ask me how, because I won’t be telling you. Anyway, after a few moments silent communion, Arara Uvulas turned to me and asked, “Would you be interested in joining Great House Telvanni?”

“Let me tell you the rules of the house,” she went on, seeing that I was having some trouble framing a reply. “Then, perhaps, you’ll be able to make a decision.

“If you steal from another Telvanni, but still live, then clearly you deserve whatever you stole. Murdering your opponents by magic or treachery is the traditional way of settling disputes. If you win, then clearly your argument has more merit. You may be expelled as in any other Great House, but most Telvanni will not care or even know about it. These are the principle rules of Great House Telvanni, do you think you can abide by them?”

“Are there no other rules?” I asked, intrigued. That ‘if you murder your opponent and get away with it, your argument has more merit’ clause probably explained the strange behaviour of the Telvanni in Tel Naga after I fulfilled the bounty on Engaer.

“Power,” Uvulas said. “The acquisition of and exercise of power be it financial, magical, physical, or some other form of power. That’s the only other rule of the House. Now, tell me, can you abide by our rules and do you wish to join Great House Telvanni?”

I was, to be honest, feeling a little numb. I’d always been a loner, both with those that called themselves my parents and in the intervening years. I’d joined the Fighters Guild out of self-interest and, while they’d shown some interest in me, it was purely a professional one. I’d been rewarded for jobs done well and given fresh jobs to do. However, I’d had to ask to join the Guild, they hadn’t asked me. Now here was one of the ruling houses of Morrowind province asking, actually asking, if I was interested in becoming a part of their House. With a lump in my throat, I said that I’d be honoured to be counted a member of Great House Telvanni.

“Then,” Arara Uvulas said, “let me be the first to welcome you Hireling Vahl. May your presence in the House reflect well on all of us. For the moment, you will take your instruction from us, the Mouths of the Councillors. Likewise, we will answer any questions you have and give you instruction in the ways of the House. Now, I have a small task for you.”

“May I ask you a question?” when she indicated that I could, I continued. “I don’t understand. I thought that you were the Telvanni Council, yet you say that you represent the Telvanni Council.”

“Yes Sudhendra,” she explained. “The people we represent, the Masters of Great House Telvanni, rarely meet. Yet it is important that members of the Great House can pass messages to them, or perform duties for them, without having to travel to isolated places. That’s where we come in. we each represent a Master and speak for them in this forum ~ hence the title ‘Mouth’. I represent Master Neloth of Tel Naga. And right now, Master Neloth has need of five portions of Sload Soap. Here are five hundred Septims ~ you may keep any change.”

Taking the money, I walked out of the Council Chamber into the cool, damp, darkness of the outer corridors. “Excuse me,” I asked the Dunmer female nearby, “but do you know where I might be able to get some Sload Soap?”

“Your best bet is Anis Seloth,” the woman said. “She usually has a large supply of the rarer alchemical ingredients.”

“Thank you…” I said.

“Dalyne Arvel, Hireling,” she introduced herself.

“Sudhendra Vahl, Hireling,” I said by way of a reply. She smiled and welcomed me to Great House Telvanni. She then gave me concise directions on how to find Seloth’s shop. I was to find that news spread quickly in Great House Telvanni and, even before I stepped out of the Council Hall, people in Sadrith Mora knew I was part of the Great House. Even the guards, who’d mostly addressed me as “outlander” or (more frequently) “scum” were more kindly disposed to me. One of the burly guards protecting the entrance to the Council Chambers even went so far as to say “Fair day to you Muthsera.”

I found Anis Seloth’s shop easily enough; it was a large mushroom perched on a steep ridge overlooking the slave-market. Anis, herself, was a petite Dunmer who always gave the impression of being rushed off her feet. However, she was well supplied with a variety of potions and ingredients, and she had more than enough Sload Soap to fulfil Arara Uvulas’ requirements: the only matter now was the price. Anis Seloth was more than willing to haggle over the price and I eventually got a good price on the five packets of white, waxy Soap: two hundred and forty-three Septims. This left me a healthy two hundred and fifty-seven Septims profit. Well pleased with myself, I returned to the Council Chamber and handed the packets to Neloth’s Mouth.

After thanking me, she asked if I was willing to undertake another task for her Master. “Master Neloth collects staves,” she said. “And he has heard that someone at the Mages Guild at Wolverine Hall has a staff of the Silver Dawn. He very much wishes to add it to his collection…”

“Say no more,” I interrupted. “It will be my pleasure to fetch the staff for Master Neloth’s collection.” I waited a moment, but it was obvious that no clink was forthcoming. That meant that the lovely profit I’d made would probably be spent on the staff. Remember what I said about the gods and their japes?

I walked over to Wolverine Hall and made my way up to the Mages Guild. As luck would have it, the first person I spoke to was a Mage by the name of Arielle Phiencel, and it was Arielle Phiencel who had the Staff of Silver Dawn in her possession. Unfortunately she wouldn’t accept less than three hundred Drakes for it. Rather begrudgingly I handed over the money and took possession of the staff. It sang with that sweet magical note that all ensorcelled items have (for me, at least) but it certainly didn’t look very prepossessing. The silver was badly tarnished, and there were areas that looked like they’d been scorched with something fairly acidic. Still, a Staff of the Silver Dawn was what was required, and this was one.

As I turned to leave, a thought struck me. “Tell me,” I asked Arielle Phiencel, “who is the best at conjuration here?”

“That would be Uleni Heleran,” the Breton replied. “She teaches a course here at the Guild. Why?” By dint of some careful questioning, I managed to draw out some useful information. Namely that Uleni Heleran has been teleporting in and out of the Guildhall quite frequently of late. I was also told that Heleran had some sort of grudge against ‘someone in town’.

“I know what you’re doing,” I said to Uleni Heleran. At first, she tried to deny it but soon admitted that it was she who was conjuring up the spectre at the Gateway Inn. I persuaded her that it might have been fun to start with, but that the “joke” was wearing thin. She postured a bit longer, claiming that Angaredhel had fined her for not applying for Hospitality Papers when she arrived here. However, she soon relented and gave me a note ~ which she called “ghost-free papers” (a sad joke on Hospitality Papers I suppose) ~ to give to Angaredhel, along with a promise that she would stop her conjurations at the Gateway.

I stopped off at the Gateway Inn on my way back to the Telvanni Council Chambers and spoke to Angaredhel. As I expected, he was bloody furious when he found out that Uleni Heleran was responsible. When he’d calmed down a bit, he fetched out a small tray and showed it to me. “You’ve done well Ser Vahl,” he said. “For stopping that wretch from ruining me, please choose a ring.” There, on the tray, sat three very traditional rings: the burnished bronze and topaz of a Thieves’ Ring; the mottled copper and turquoise of a Fighters’ Ring; and the polished silver and jadeite of a Mages’ Ring. Naturally, I chose the Mages’ Ring.

“This is exactly what Master Neloth is looking for,” Arara Uvulas said as I handed over the staff. “It’s not particularly potent, but its spells are useful in a pinch. Do you know any combat-magic Ser Vahl?” when I admitted that I only knew a few spells, Uvulas took the time to teach me a cantrip designed to blind an enemy. I thanked her profusely, knowing that I’d gained just a little more knowledge. And knowledge, as every Telvanni knows, is power.

“If you feel up to more tasks today Hireling,” a clear voice called across the chamber. “I have a small job for you to undertake.” The speaker was Felisa Ulessen, Mouth to a Mistress Therana. I went over to speak to her.

“I have a skirt here that needs to be delivered to my Mistress at Tel Branora.” Lowering her voice, she added, “My Mistress can be a little… eccentric at times. Please take these scrolls in case you need them.”

Looking at the scrolls of ALMSIVI Intervention, I asked the obvious question, “where is Tel Branora?” Ulessen showed me on my map, adding that a boat was probably the best way to get there. Perhaps, perhaps not, I thought as I looked at the tiny islet far to the south on my map. Taking the skirt, I stood and spoke in a clear, concise voice “Ex hic absum, ut Ald’ruhn.”

To my delight, Delas Mrania had a Void-Walk spell for Tel Branora, which I promptly purchased. Then I had the Guild-Guide service send me to Balmora so I could rest for the night.

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I stepped out into the hazy Balmoran sunlight after a quick meal of fried Kwama eggs and cast the cantrip that would take me all the way across the island (and quite a way south) to Tel Branora. I staggered slightly on the uneven planks of the dock I arrived on. I had passed through Tel Branora late at night on my way back from Molag Mar. To be honest, it looked no less a dump in the daylight than it had that night. A small clutch of rude wooden huts clustered around a rough wooden dock. Of course, I’d not yet learned that, for most Telvanni, the dock wasn’t the way they’d be arriving.

As I made my way towards the tower, I spotted a little group standing on the hillside. A Dunmeri female seemed to be in charge, and she had with her a number of soldiers, mercenaries I guess. From their short stature I thought they were probably Bosmeri. I had no idea what they were up to, and even less interest.

The tower of Tel Branora loomed before me, tall and convoluted. Taking a deep breath ~ this was, after all, the first time I’d encountered a high-ranking Telvanni ~ I stepped onto the bridge and crossed to the base of the mushroom-tower. A few questions of the guards soon had me walking up the spiral “branch” that wound around the tower until I reached the top. Stepping through the small, round, wooden door, I was faced with a series of interconnected chambers that finally led up to a room in the top of the tower. It looked like a whirlwind had blown through it ~ books and ornaments were scattered everywhere. Two Dunmer were arguing vociferously, and it looked like they’d punctuated their arguments with their fists. I had to virtually scream at them before I could get their attention.

“Which way to Therana’s chambers?” I asked. Immediately they pointed in opposite directions, each aiming a finger at one of the two bronze doors in the chamber. Almost instantly they started arguing acrimoniously as to which of them was giving me the right directions. Under other circumstances, it might even have been amusing but it left me wondering if everyone in this tower didn’t qualify for the label “eccentric”.

I chose one of the two doors and stepped through into a small chamber with a corridor leading directly upwards. I’d been warned about this and had thought to invest in a levitation potion before setting off here. The purplish-coloured liquid had a strange, oily taste but I swallowed it down and started to walk on air. Before long I found myself in a corridor that stretched laterally across the top of the tower. Walking along it, I came to a large, well-lit chamber. There inside, dressed in a flowing red robe with a raised collar that framed a wizened face and a shock of grey hair, stood a regal looking Dunmer.

“Are you the new servant dear?” the woman asked as I stepped into the chamber. “Or have you come to feed the spiders?” (There was something about the way she emphasised feed and spiders that made me feel cold).

“Felisa Ulessen sent me,” I replied, fetching the skirt out of my pack. “She’s sent you the skirt you wanted.”

The woman cocked her head to one side and looked at me for a long moment. “How do I know you’ve not put a curse on it you nasty child?” she suddenly shouted, spittle flying from her lips as blood suffused her face. “Think I’m a fool do you Therana? Ha, no I know better than that. You put it on. Put it on now.”

I blinked in surprise at the trembling woman. Her fingers were twitching convulsively and her mouth was working as though she were chewing something hard. I didn’t know who my mother was, but one thing is certain, she didn’t give birth to a fool. Therana’s whole attitude was deeply disconcerting and the thought of actually putting on the skirt ~ pretty though it was ~ scared the spit out of me for reasons I couldn’t rightly put a finger on. I had a better idea.

“You, Khajiiti,” I said to the feline at the back of the chamber. “Your mistress wishes you to wear this skirt.”

“You want Khajiit skirt to wear?” the Suthay-Raht asked. I nodded and shoved the garment into its hands. It looked down, puzzled, then gave a shrug and stepped into it. “There, Khajiit wear skirt n…”

“Dirty little thief,” Therana roared, shoving me aside. I fell heavily, being unprepared and, as I raised my head there was a brilliant light, a sudden warmth, and a horrible smell. I rolled over, scrambling away from the smouldering ruins of the Khajiit in horror.

“Tell Felisa I wanted a Khajiit-fur skirt,” Therana hissed, shoving her face into mine. Then, with a horrible grin of triumph, she help up this bloody scrap of fur and added, “Don’t need one now. I can make my own.”

Somehow I made it outside before voiding the contents of my stomach. Weak as a kitten… no, that wasn’t a thought I really wanted right now. Pale and shaking, I stood in the breeze until the stench of burning fur washed out of my nostrils. The sight of Therana, gleefully tying a scrap of gore-drenched fur about her waist wouldn’t go away ~ and I guessed it would be a time before it would.

When I was recovered some, I spoke the cantrip that would return me to Sadrith Mora and made my way back into the Telvanni Council Chambers to speak to Felisa Ulessen. She took one look at my pale face and nodded sympathetically. She paid me a thousand Septims for having delivered the skirt, and then asked if I knew the spells Mark and Recall.

“No, I don’t,” I said. She proceeded to teach me the spells, saying that they were much better than relying on ALMSIVI or Divine Intervention spells. I thanked her for her time and started to move off.

“I have another job for you Hireling Vahl,” she said. I turned and looked at her coldly.

“I wish nothing further to do with your Mistress,” I said.

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“You won’t have to deal with Mistress Therana directly,” Felisa said, “I can guarantee it.”

“Very well, tell me about this chore.”

“Therana has an egg-mine, called the Abebaal Mine,” Felisa told me. “It’s an hour’s walk northwest of Tel Branora. The slaves there are revolting. Therana wishes them put to death, but I’ll leave it entirely up to you how you deal with the situation.”

The teleportation spell dumped me neatly in the same spot on the docks in Tel Branora as it had before and, sparing an annoyed glance at the distant tower, I set off in the general direction of the egg-mine. Of course, I ran foul of that bane of every traveller here on Vvardenfell: the Cliff-Racers. Foul leathery things with a tail like a barbcat’s and a heavy beak, these creatures are insanely territorial and often chase hapless travellers for miles (and days) to deal out avian retribution. Fortunately, they are rather stupid ~ hovering within easy reach of a sword while they attack. Walking back to Tel Branora wouldn’t be a problem ~ all I’d have to do was follow the trail of corpses.

I found the Abebaal mine easily enough and stepped into the dark, warm interior. “You,” I snapped at a nearby Argonian, “tell me why you have stopped working.”

“Dark Elf,” it hissed, “speak to Edeel-Lai.” The Argonian reluctantly pointed deeper into the mine when I asked where I would find this Edeel-Lai. I walked, head held high, through the mine ~ ignoring the numerous Khajiiti and Argonians that stared at me with naked and open hostility. This, I thought, could be very, very bad if I mishandled it; I was outnumbered ten or more to one.

“You are Edeel-Lai?” I asked a larger than average Argonian.

“Ser, I Edeel-Lai am,” it replied. When I asked why they’d stopped work, it replied “Serjo Therana, Mistress, make us work hard, overtime, extra time. I, tower, Tel Branora, Mistress home, travel. There many eggs I see, wasted, rotted, decorating tower. Us, no food, hungry must be.”

I nodded. I too had noticed the Kwama eggs that littered the tower of Therana. “What do you intend to do?”

“Black Marsh, home, run away, go imperative, soon,” it hissed in reply. “Key, bracers, needed, not found, here in mine, one yes?”

“There’s a key to the Slave-Bracers here in the mine?” I quizzed, seeking clarification. “If you had it, you’d lead these people to the Black Marsh?” It nodded and I grinned. There was a sort of ironic charm to the thought of letting Therana’s slaves simply run away. The key proved to be idiotically simple to find, it had been dropped carelessly into a crate in the Queen’s Chamber along with a consignment of eggs. I took it back to Edeel-Lai and held it where it could see it.

“Listen very closely,” I said. “In a moment I’m going to give you this key and you’re going to set everyone free. When that happens, you are to leave immediately, and I do mean immediately. Do you understand?” it nodded, so I continued, “I will report back that the mine was empty when I got here. I don’t know how quickly word will reach the tower but Therana’s guards will be here as soon as they get notification. If they catch any sight of you, I’ll lead the chase myself and I won’t be merciful when we catch up. Is that perfectly clear?”

“Clear, understood, well wished, much gratitude Ser,” the Argonian Edeel-Lai replied, reaching for the key. “Mist, unseen, as night, us go.” I nodded, and dropped the key into its clawed hand.

As the former slaves clustered around Edeel-Lai with outstretched arms, I walked outside of the mine into the light and spoke the words that would activate the recall spell, “Ut locus Ego eram pro “. There was a flare of purple light that washed out the vista of the shoreline and, when the mist cleared, I was standing on the steps leading down into the Council Chamber. I permitted myself a grin, the first since this day had started.

When Felisa Ulessen asked for a report on the situation in the mine, I barefaced lied to her. “When I arrived at Abebaal, there were no slaves to be found. There were Slave-Bracers scattered about, but no slaves. My guess is that a guard was careless enough to leave a key where the slaves could find it.”

“Ah well,” Felisa sighed. “Slaves are easy enough to come by, but Mistress Therana won’t be happy that they’ll need to be trained. Let me teach you a spell Retainer Vahl, that will allow you to control any slaves you might have.” For someone who prides herself as being sharp and on the ball, it took a while for the Drake to drop on that one. Felisa grinned at me as I looked up from the scroll she’d given me to study and mouthed “Retainer?”

With a new spell buzzing about in my head and a promotion under my belt, I returned to Balmora and the former house of Dura gra-Bol. I’d had my first taste of how the Telvanni do things and I was very much uncertain about the course I should follow. The Telvanni kept slaves, but they are not unique in that respect. Some careful questioning of the slave-trader in Sadrith Mora had taught me that slavery was still legal in Vvardenfell. More a matter of concern was the capriciousness and mental instability I’d glimpsed. There was, however, an uncomfortable truth to be considered: I’d made my bed, now I had to lie in it. By joining Great House Telvanni I’d effectively closed myself off to the other two Great Houses ~ even if I left House Telvanni, neither of the other houses would have me.

I just had to hope that Therana’s madness wasn’t a common trait amongst the Telvanni.

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Today did not get off to the most auspicious of starts; it took me three attempts to cast the recall spell that would return me to the Telvanni Council Chambers. I hoped that the day would get better ~ something of a vain hope as it turned out.

“Ahh, Ser Vahl,” said Mouth Omayn, “We need you to go and bring us five portions of Muck as soon as you can. When you get back, we’ll have another small chore for you.”

Obtaining the Muck was as simple as walking around to Anis Seloth’s shop and purchasing five waxed-packets of the stuff. I was charged the princely sum of four Septims. “Excellent,” Raven Omayn said when I handed her the packages, “now we can make up some potions.” With a sigh, she added, “Life would be so much easier if everyone would learn a simple cure common disease spell.”

I politely pointed out that I didn’t know how to cast such a spell. The Mouth looked at me in a long-suffering manner and then proceeded to teach me one. The school of restoration has never been one of my strong points, but the spell seemed so useful that I resolved to practice casting it at every opportunity until I could do so easily.

“Now we have a slightly more difficult task for you,” she said as she straightened up. “We need you to find a ring known as The Black Jinx. We know that this ring is here in Sadrith Mora, but we don’t know where. We are aware that you have contacts that are not available to us and hope you can locate and retrieve the ring. Please keep us informed.”

Talking to Raven Omayn was a strain, her Mistress tended to dominate Omayn’s mind and the two spoke as though they were one person. Still, as my foster-father would have commented, it’s an inside job with no heavy lifting. Which tells you as much about that worthy individual as you’ll ever need to know. I went around the slave-market, asking about the Black Jinx, but nobody could tell me much about it. After about an hour of this, I suddenly stopped and thought about what had been said to me. Sudhendra, sometimes you’re such a fool.

I hit pay dirt almost immediately. A rogue sorcerer out of the Illiac Bay said he’d give me the information he had for the price of a drink. After I’d brought him a jug of Matze from Muriel, he told me what I needed to know. “The Black Jinx is, as you have been so correctly informed, right here in Sadrith Mora. Further more, I can tell you it’s in the possession of one Alven Salas.”

“Oh, one more thing,” he said after I’d thanked him and turned to go. “This Salas? He’s an assassin with the Morag Tong. I believe you’ll find their Guildhall at the north of the town. Good luck.”

Oh marvellous, I reflected as I stood outside Dirty Muriel’s. I’ve been here what, a little over two weeks? Now I’m expected to go up against someone who makes his living killing people like me. Did I anger the Gods in some way? Am I being punished for transgressions in a former life? Or did stuff like this happen to other people?

It was with my heart in my mouth that I walked to the northern end of Sadrith Mora. There stood a building: it looked no different from its neighbours. Until you realised it had no neighbours. This, then, was the Morag Tong Guildhall ~ and the prize I sought was inside.

“So you want the Black Jinx eh?” Alven Salas sneered. “I’ll tell you what, you beat me in a fair fight and you can have the ring. If I beat you, you can’t. Simple enough for you?” I was faced with little choice ~ if I wanted to get the ring for Dratha I’d have to fight this assassin. And I was pretty sure that not getting the ring would severely hamper any chance of future promotion within the House. Besides, this arrogant prig needed to be taught a lesson. I nodded.

Alven Salas laughed, his hand snaking out and slapping my face with scary speed. “Oh,” he said, “a little pointer. I’m going to beat you until you beg me to stop. The only way you can beat me is to kill me.” I managed, barely, to deflect his next blow. I drew my sword ~ an axe being next to useless in this enclosed space ~ and slashed at him. He laughed nastily and danced easily out of the way. “Have to do better than that,” he taunted.

There followed one of the most humiliating experiences I’ve ever had to undergo. Try as hard as I would, I couldn’t connect with the Dunmer in front of me: yet he seemed to be able to reach through my defences at will and pummel me repeatedly. A blow to the head knocked me off balance, and the follow up punch, to the stomach, winded me. Again, and again he brushed past my blade to strike me. I could feel my rage building ~ this was what I’d had to suffer back in Hammerfell from my foster-father. To stand there while he taunted and slapped me for whatever transgression ~ real or imagined ~ took his fancy.

With a snarl, I dropped the sword. “Giving up already?” sneered the assassin, slapping my face again. “We’ll dance until I say we’re done, and then we’ll…”

His taunts died in his throat as I looked up at him from under my fringe of white hair. I was livid with anger, all the old frustrations boiling back to the surface. But this wasn’t a burning anger, a hot rush of rage: no, this was something colder and far deadlier. “You want to dance Salas?” I said in a monotone. “Then let’s dance.”

He lashed out again, but this time it was I who connected ~ my nails raking four bloody lines down his left cheek. His foot clipped my shoulder as he lashed out with a furious kick, only to go crashing down to the floor as I swept his other leg from under him. I managed to get in two vicious kicks before he rolled away and scrambled to his feet. Rather more warily now, he circled around me before unleashing a fusillade of punches. Stoically I absorbed them, grunting at the impact ~ and then I opened up his right eyebrow with my thumbnail. I admit, it wasn’t intentional, what I’d actually been trying to do was take out his eye.

A small steel dagger appeared in his hand with a suddenness that was magical. He lunged forward and I spun out of the way and smashed the dish I swept up off the table across the back of his head. He staggered and I was on him in a heartbeat. I clung onto his back, my arm cinched tightly around his throat as we crashed to the floor. With a wordless snarl I twisted my grip. There was a sudden, sharp crack and Alven Salas went limp. Rolling off him, I curled up and wept. I wept for Salas, for myself, for anyone who found them self in a similar situation, for all those who had to suffer and who couldn’t retaliate against their tormentors. But, I think, I mostly wept for myself.

The person who stood up wasn’t the same person who’d entered the assassins’ Guildhall. Despite my wandering and my roguish lifestyle, I had entered the building as a naïf, what would step out was colder, harder, and deadlier. Before I would defend myself if necessary, although running was always an option I preferred. Now I’d have no truck with such behaviour ~ whatever life, or this inimical island threw at me I would meet it head on, subdue it, turn it to my advantage or kill it if necessary. I was through being pushed from pillar to post: now it would be me who did the pushing.

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With no qualms or revulsion, I rifled through Salas’ belongings and took the Black Jinx. Returning to the Telvanni Council Chambers, I presented it to Raven Omayn.

“Excellent,” she said, “We are well pleased. We will pay you five hundred Septims for the…”

“No,” I interrupted. “Magic. I want to be paid in magical spells, scrolls, weapons, or training.”

“Very well,” Omayn said, quirking an eyebrow. “We shall teach you a spell to demoralise your enemies and give you this glass jink-blade. Is that more acceptable to you?”

After learning the spell, I returned to Balmora and cast the healing spell on myself. My doubts about Great House Telvanni were a thing of the past, part of the old me. Redoran would suit me only because they produced good warriors ~ their notions of honour and fair play would only have been a hindrance. Hlaalu were soft, soft and corrupt. No, only House Telvanni could provide me with the thing I needed: magic. After all, magic requires knowledge and, as I’ve remarked before, knowledge is power. And the powerful? They tend to survive.

I awoke refreshed from my meditations, a new awareness of my strengths and weaknesses filling me. Despite the beating I’d taken, I felt strong, stronger than I had been since I stepped of that ship in Seyda Neen. In fact, it almost seemed as though I’d reached some sort of higher level, one that left me feeling enhanced in strength, fitness, and intelligence. Spells that I’d barely been able to cast without depleting my magicka now came much more easily and I’d acquired some of the body-tone I’d had before I’d been packed off to prison. With a grin, I returned to the Telvanni Council Chambers.

“We have been talking about you Sudhendra,” Mallam Ryon said as I entered the chamber. “I, and a few others, feel that you’re going to be a real asset to the house. Accordingly, it is our pleasure to promote you to the position of Oathman.” After I’d thanked him, he said “now, Sera Vahl, I have a task for you. It’s not onerous, but it does require a fair bit of travelling. There is a Telvanni living in Gnisis. My Master wishes you to ask him some questions.”

“What are the questions?” I asked.

“Gothren wishes to know what Baladas Demnevanni knows about the disappearance of the Dwemer; whether he has any knowledge of the Dwemeri language; and, finally, whatever he can tell us about Dwemeri artefacts.

“It’s very likely that Demnevanni will not answer these questions,” Mallam continued. “However, the Arch-Magister wishes these questions asked regardless of what answers we get. Now, here is some money for expenses…”

“I’ve not actually said I’m willing to do this,” I pointed out, earning myself a bewildered stare from Mouth Ryon and a silvery giggle I’m sure came from Felisa Ulessen. “But I will ask your Master’s questions.”

The clink was about enough to pay for Guild-Guide transportation to Ald’ruhn with enough left over, at a guess, to pay for transportation up to Gnisis by whatever means I could find. I had different plans. Repeating the cantrip that would take me to Ald’ruhn, I went into the Mages guild and sought out Delas Mrania. “Do you have a teleportation spell for Gnisis?” I asked. She did, and I wasted little time in purchasing it and getting out of there. As I stood in the patch of dust that passed for a main square, I thought about what I’d just encountered.

I’d passed through various Mage Guildhouses since my arrival and, while not exactly gushing with friendship; the mages had been friendly enough. Now, however, there seemed to be a distinct coolness in their interactions with me. Chalking it up to general paranoia, I shrugged and spoke the cantrip that would take me to Gnisis.

The change in scenery was astonishing. Sure, the houses were still those oval huts that the Redoran seemed to prefer, but the town had none of that cramped feel that afflicted Sadrith Mora, Balmora, or Ald’ruhn. Huge cliffs rose on two sides of the town, the soft orange rock sparkling in the sunlight. A massive Dunmeri temple dominated the town square and, off to the west was a massive domed building that seemed to erupt from the hillside. Behind me, in a deep channel, frothed and foamed a broad river. And, for the first time, I could smell growing things instead of the flinty smell that suffused the island. The only downside was the Imperial fort on the eastern side of the town and the large number of legionnaires strolling around.

However, even Orcish legionnaires have their uses and one of them directed me to the large domed building when I asked about Baladas Demnevanni. The building, according to the Orc, was called Arvs-Drelen. The door, like so many here on Vvardenfell, wasn’t locked and I stepped right inside.

The interior architecture was as different as the exterior. The room I found myself in ~ as did all the other rooms and corridors, had rounded corners and flat walls. Flat, that is, up to chest-height ~ after that they curved gently inwards towards the roof. The room was devoid of any furnishings and boasted but a single door that led, presumably, to the interior of the building. In the corridor beyond, I was faced with a choice. To my right, the floor sloped gently but perceptibly downwards, to my left, it sloped upwards. Figuring that Demnevanni would live at the top of the building, I turned left and headed that way.

The corridor curved around seamlessly inside the building, with just one corridor branching off. At the top of the gentle incline I found myself confronted by a door. A thick, heavy door. A door that fairly hummed with the power of the wards placed on it. A door that had a lock of such bewildering complexity that, even were I a skilled thief, would have flummoxed me. It was, in short, a door that said ‘unless you can figure out how to get past me, GO AWAY!’

There were two rooms on the branching corridor. One of the rooms was obviously a room for servants’ ~ it contained a couple of beds and a large cupboard. The other room was decidedly not empty: two skeletal guardians were protecting a couple of chests and some crates. The room was quite large and gave me ample room to swing an axe freely. Skeletal warriors look impressive, but fragile bone stands little chance against a heavy weapon. The crates contained some alchemical ingredients but, frustratingly, the chests were locked beyond my meagre skill. They were not locked beyond the power of the scroll I carried. Unrolling the fine velum, I studied the angular characters of the native language. Hesitantly, I spoke the syllables inscribed on the scroll, “Annon Edhellen, edro hi amen.” There was a flash of purple light and the lock on the chest I was looking shattered like ice underfoot. Seconds later there was a flare of brilliant white light and the scroll I carried vaporised and vanished like smoke. Well, there was no key in the chest, but the light from the nearby torches reflected of the heaped mound of coins with a subtle golden glow. Neither did the second chest contain a key, but I was some four hundred Septims the richer when I stepped out of that chamber.

(Now, some of you may ask, why did I not use the scrolls on the door? Simple: even the most cursory examination of the door-wards showed how lethal they were and I simply had no means of disarming them.)

The curving corridor decanted me back into the vestibule of Arvs-Drelen, leaving me with only one other direction to explore. The short passageway led to a landing, a sort of T-junction. The downward sloping corridor led into a cellar/prison. The chests in the cellar contained various household supplies and the prison cell was unlocked and empty. I had much more luck with the room at the top of the slope.

This was obviously the room of a much more important servant and, resting on a piece of parchment on a cupboard was a simple iron key. Since this was the only key I’d found, and I’d run out of places to search for another, I took it back to the lethally trapped door. It slid into the lock easily and, when I turned it there was a soft click: the wards fell and the door swung slowly open under my hand.

“Gah!” I screamed as the bulking shape of a Daedroth filled the doorway. It opened its mouth, revealing far too many razor-sharp teeth and snorted, nostrils flaring. To my utmost surprise, it simply turned away. No, it couldn’t be… Baladas Demnevanni kept a Daedroth as a pet? Still trembling, I skirted around the edge of the huge oval room to the stairs that led upwards. Crouching to keep the Dremora in sight as it paced the lower chamber, I headed upwards. Where I got the biggest shock to date.

The Mer who stood facing me was of average height and slim build. The weight of his years had turned his black hair and beard to a mass of grey hairs and pressed down on his shoulders to give him a stooped aspect. The eyes transfixed me, freezing me in my tracks. Red as a storm cloud they were, and about as friendly. That was not what had me rooted to the spot. I prided myself on being intelligent but the power of the intellect burning behind these crimson eyes dwarfed my own. In fact, only twice more would I see such intellect and power in the eyes of a being. But, more of that tale in its appointed place.

“Who intrudes on my studies?” Baladas Demnevanni (for it could be no other) asked.

“I am Sudhendra Vahl,” I managed to stammer, “Oathman of House Telvanni.”

“And why do you visit Arvs-Drelen?” he asked in a slightly warmer tone of voice. Relaxing a little, I explained to him why I was there. “Hmmm,” he said, peering at me closely. Then, in a brisk and dismissive tone of voice, he rattled off the following reply.

“There are many theories as to how and why the Dwemer vanished. Any fool with access to a library of good books can find a dozen conflicting theories within an hour. The language, Dwemeris, is unknown and unknowable. Consider this child, the Dwemer vanished over three millennia ago ~ who now would there be to teach the language to another? As for artefacts,” he concluded, “you may visit any ruin and load yourself down with as many as you can carry.”

With that, he gave the briefest of bows and turned back to the complex apparatus sprawled over the table behind him. In other words, thank you and goodbye. As I turned to leave, I saw the Type II animalcule in the corner. Even as I watched, it bloomed like the deadliest of flowers, extruding a blade as its blind head scanned the room. As it folded itself away again without attacking, I couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter. Old mister “I-know-nothing-about-the-Dwemer” Demnevanni knew a good deal more than he was telling. I thought back over our conversation ~ at first he’d been cold and threatening, but had warmed when I introduced myself as a fellow member of the House. The coldness had returned when… when… when I said I Mallam Ryon had asked me to ask him some questions!

So, I mused as I cast the spell that would take me back to the Telvanni Council Chambers, there was a history between Demnevanni and Mallam? No, it was more likely that the disagreement was with Mallam’s master ~ Arch-Magister Gothren. An interesting titbit of information, but not one that I could see any immediate use for: still, it bore remembering.

Mallam Ryon thanked me for visiting Baladas Demnevanni, and I got the distinct impression that the answers I provided (verbatim, and with more than a little relish) were exactly what he’d expected to hear. In fact, the impression that I got from the whole trip was that somebody was keeping tabs on the Wizard Demnevanni for some reason. Still, the internal politics of the House were not really my concern at this point.

[OverrideB1]

Since today is ‘Tales and Tallows’; I need to make sure that any business is finished well before sundown. To that end, I forwent my usual morning meal and got myself over to Sadrith Mora and the Council Hall as quickly as I could. Mallam Ryon was delighted with the schematics, chuckling happily as he poured over them. Finally, he seemed to remember I was still standing there, and presented me with my reward.

This took the form of one of those conical helmets that the House guards wore, and it had some very powerful enchantments built into it. If the helms worn by the guards were of similar power, I was glad I’d never tangled with them. Mallam seemed terribly preoccupied with the schematics and appeared to have no more tasks for me. However, there were still chores that the Mouths wanted me to do.

“Do you feel up to a little travelling?” Galos Mathendis asked. When I said that I didn’t object, he asked a most peculiar question, “Can you swim at all?”

“Good,” he said when I replied in the affirmative. “Hopefully these potions and scrolls mean that you won’t have to, but it’s possible that they might run out at an inopportune moment. Now, here is a message that I want delivered to Divayth Fyr. He lives at Tel Fyr… here, let me mark it on your map for you.”

I stood on the low promontory of land that extended from the docks and looked out across Zafirbel Bay. Through the low-laying mist I could see the hazy humps of the small islands and rocks that made approaching Sadrith Mora so difficult. Although I had the scrolls and potions that Mathendis had given me, I also had a water-walking spell of my own and a small number of restore magicka potions. So it was with some care that I spoke the cantrip that would allow me to break all natural laws. “rigor unda“ I said, and then stepped out onto the shimmering surface. The salt-water rippled disconcertingly, but my foot didn’t sink through the surface. Emboldened, I took a few tentative steps across the Bay, then started to run ~ for the sheer pleasure of it.

Wide concentric circles extended outwards from where I ran, the water supporting me exactly like the solid surface it wasn’t. I concentrated on the shape of the spell in my mind, sparing what little was left to track my position and surroundings. There are a couple of spells you need to keep a close eye on ~ water-walking being one of them. It can be embarrassing, not to mention fatal, if you don’t pay attention and the spell collapses while you’re in deep water and far from land. Noticing that the intricate form of the spell was starting to fray, I angled towards a small islet ~ feeling the crunch of gritty sand underfoot just as the whole convoluted edifice of the spell collapsed.

That suited me just fine, I was panting from the twin exertions of running and maintaining the spell. A few moments rest would solve the first problem, while I had magicka enough to recast the spell without having to resort to a potion. When I’d recovered, I spoke the cantrip again and set off towards Tel Fyr.

And so I went, moving from islet to islet to rest and recover, using my restore magicka potions as sparingly as possible. In this way, it wasn’t too long before I saw a familiar sight looming out of the mist in front of me. Remember what I said about paying attention? That’s why I stumbled ashore ~ spluttering and cursing from my unexpected immersion in the waters of Zafirbel Bay. Squelching and dripping, I crossed the little wooden bridge that joined two islands together, passing under the intricate arch and banner proclaiming that this was, indeed, Tel Fyr.

In front of me rose a Telvanni Tel, smaller than the ones I’d seen in Branora or Sadrith Mora but older and more intricate than either of those edifices. Espying a couple of conveniently large rocks, I darted behind them and changed into drier clothing ~ fortunately, the backpack is waterproof. Then, looking slightly more presentable, I entered the tower.

“Can I help you?” a soft voice inquired from the chamber opposite me.

“I hope so Muthsera,” I replied politely. “I’m looking for Divayth Fyr.”

“Oh, Father is upstairs,” she replied (I fancied that I could hear the capital she gave to father). “I do hope you can levitate,” she continued, stepping into view from behind the central pillar, “Father is very traditional, and there are no stairs.” The Dunmeri female was stunningly beautiful, with masses of black hair cascading around her attractive, yet oddly masculine face. Stammering slightly, I thanked her and headed off up the incline she’d indicated until I came to a round wooden door.

I found myself in a small complex of rooms, none of which contained a living soul. They contained a few other interesting things however. There were some Soul-Stones that might come in handy and a small number of exotic potions that would fetch a fair price. Mindful of the credo of House Telvanni, I made doubly certain I was alone before dropping the Soul-Stones and the potions in my pack. That done, I set about solving the problem of the whereabouts of the Mer I’d come to deliver a message to.

Having ascertained that there were no hidden doors, some instinct made me look up. There, just in front of the door, was a tunnel cut into the roof. Casting levitation, I rose up and stepped carefully onto the solid floor in the upper levels of Tel Fyr.

“Can I help you?” a Dunmeri female asked.

“How did you get up here before me?” I spluttered to the dark-haired woman. She looked puzzled for a moment, and then gave a tinkling laugh.

“Oh, you must have met Beyte downstairs. I’m her sister, Alfe.” It was amazing; clad in identical clothing and armour, the two women were mirror images of each other. Identical twins are something of a rarity and I’d never met any before. “You must be looking for Father,” she continued. “He’s in his study at the end of the hall.”

And there he was, bent over a table studying a scroll whilst a retort bubbled and hissed nearby. Book-lined shelves filled the small room of the grey-haired Mer in front of me. Slight of build, and with his long grey hair tied back in the Breton fashion, he wore dark, heavy looking armour that rippled in the candlelight. When he stood and turned to look at me, I actually took a step back.

His eyes burned with a fierce and analytical intellect, and his gaze was transfixing and penetrating ~ as though you were naught but an interesting specimen for him to examine. Although he stood tall and steady, you could sense the great weight of age on him. But it was neither the fierce scrutiny nor the great age that lined the thin, bearded face that caused me such surprise. It was the eyes themselves: for they, unlike any Dunmer’s I’ve ever seen, were the colour of the sky at noon ~ a fierce harsh blue.

“Yes, I am Divayth Fyr,” he replied in a soft voice to my stammered query. “Why do you interrupt my work?

“Have you come to plunder my dungeon,” he continued before I could say a word. “Or have you come seeking information on the Divine Disease? Hmmm, I doubt you’ve come to letch at my daughters, although anything is possible in this day and age.”

“I have a message for you,” I said, extending the parchment, “from Galos Mathendis.”

He took the scroll from me and broke the seal, turning away from me as he scanned the lines written there. As he did, I looked around the study. As I’ve said, books lined the shelves on either side of the room and were piled high on his workbench. Small dishes of alchemical ingredients covered one end of the bench while, next to them, an alchemical apparatus of bewildering complexity bubbled and hissed. Two small silver dishes stood on the work-surface ~ one containing a small amulet and the other containing a thumb-sized grey sliver of stone. I started to read the titles of the books stacked on the bench.

“No,” Divayth Fyr said.

[OverrideB1]

“I’m sorry?” I hadn’t been paying attention, one of the books in particular had caught my eyes and I was stunned to see it there.

“My reply to the message. It’s ‘No’,” Divayth repeated.

“Are you still here messenger?” he asked when I showed no signs of leaving.

“May I ask you a question Muthsera?” I asked. He nodded, so I continued, “Why did you ask if I’d come to plunder your dungeon?”

“A small conceit of mine,” he said with a smirk. “I have accumulated many treasures in my lifetime and all are stored here in Tel Fyr. They are well guarded but, well, anyone who can get them is welcome to keep them. I’ve had a number of takers over the centuries, but no one has succeeded so far. It helps relieve the ennui.”

“And the Divine Disease?”

“Corprus,” he said flatly. “A debilitating and virulent disease that you’ve no doubt encountered…” (Here I thought of that poor soul in Berwen’s shop and nodded) “…on your travels. Whilst the majority of victims fall prey to the most hideous transformations, some do not ~ although I’ve had no chance to study any who haven’t. There is a mystical component to the virus that I haven’t managed to isolate and study… yet. I also seek a cure for the affliction, since all those who are infected are doomed to an eternity of madness and disfigurement, or worse.”

Divayth Fyr wouldn’t be drawn further on the subject, leaving me to wonder what could be worse than madness, mutation, and death. I could see the ancient wizard was growing impatient, so I asked my final question, “Is that a tome of ancient knowledge on your desk? I’ve heard of them but never…”

“Here,” he said, sweeping the leather-bound book off the desk and thrusting it into my hands. “Take it, keep it, it’s of no further use to me. Now, I have more important things to do than stand here talking.” And, with that, he turned his back on me and returned to reading the scroll on his desk.

Clutching my prize, I made my farewells ~ which Divayth ignored completely ~ and backed into the antechamber. I breathed out softly, unable to believe my luck. An actual, genuine ‘Tome of Ancient Knowledge’, thrust into my hands and dismissed as being of no further use to the owner (which gave me an uncomfortable understanding of just how powerful a sorcerer Divayth Fyr was). A very small number of these ancient works still exist and, as far as I knew, all were in the possession of the Mages Guild. Written in their pages were the spells of old, many forgotten or utilised in a newer, weaker form. Tales of yore told of how mages spent years studying them, slowly learning the powerful cantrips written inside. A boon, then, for an aspiring mage to be handed one in such a cavalier fashion.

The violet mist that accompanies a recall spell cleared from around me, revealing the Telvanni Council Chambers. I stepped over to Galos Mathendis and spoke the message that the wizard had given me.

“Ah well,” Galos sighed. “It’s not surprising, although Master Aryon was hoping for a different response this time.

“Serjo Fyr has absolutely no interest in the internal politics of the House,” he explained when I asked. “In fact, he has no interest in the House at all. Although there are none who would deny him the position of Arch-Magister, or even that of a Master, Divayth has remained a Wizard for at least two and a half thousand years.”

“Two and a half thousand!” I exclaimed.

“Oh yes,” Galos said with a smile. “Maybe as long as three thousand, nobody is sure any more. I suppose we could ask the Keepers of the Records in Port Telvannis if we really wanted to know.”

“Just how old is Divayth Fyr?” I asked.

The answer was a shock and a marvel. “He was born sometime in the late First Era or very early in the Second.” I blinked, that would make him somewhere on the order of four thousand years old. “True,” Galos said, “but there are secrets of longevity known only to this House, and to which you may be initiated if you rise high enough in rank. However, there are some secrets known only to Serjo Fyr ~ and he is not that willing to share them.

“Now, I have another small task for you,” Galos told me. “Perhaps not as interesting as the last, but somewhat more vital. While you were gone, a runner arrived from Tel Vos. It seems that the Apothecary Andil has run out of potions to cure Blight. I need you to obtain three potions and get them to him as quickly as possible: that should hold him until the next shipment arrives. Mind, he will not accept homemade potions, so you’ll have to get them from a supplier.

“There is one more thing before you go Sudhendra Vahl,” he said. “We have been very impressed with the work you’ve done for us so far. So, it is our honour and privilege to promote you to the rank of Lawman, effective immediately.”

I thanked the assembled Mouths profusely before stepping out of the chamber and dropping the five hundred Septims Galos had given me for delivering the message into my purse. Lawman was a respectable rank and I was more than pleased with my new station in life. News, as always, travelled quickly in the Telvanni community, and Dalyne Arvel was quick to congratulate me when I spoke to her.

Dalyne Arvel was, once again, a goldmine of information and told me that a Breton named Pierlette Rostorard maintains a small shop near Wolverine Hall, and usually has some cure Blight potions in stock. This proved to be the case, and I sold the woman all my spare potions in exchange for four phials of the oily-looking potion to cure Blight and some four hundred and ninety Septims. Three of the potions were for Andil, one I intended to keep for myself in case I needed it.

Since the day was growing older by the moment and I intended to be behind locked doors well before nightfall, I cast Void-Walk for Ald’ruhn and sought out Delas Mrania in the Mages Guildhall there. She readily sold me a translocation spell for Tel Vos. After memorising the spell, I stepped into the dusty atmosphere of Ald’ruhn and spoke aloud the words.

There was a peculiar twisting sensation, and then I found myself standing partway up a hill looking at the massive stone blocks of the Imperial fort above Vos. Now that I was able to get a closer look at it, I could see that huge roots had burst through some of the walls. The reason for this became obvious as soon as I stepped into the main courtyard. Twisting up from deeply sunken and massive roots rose a Telvanni mushroom tower. The thick, seamless shaft soared overhead through spirals of roots and protruding branches until it terminated in a massive cap. Where in, I guessed, lived the Telvanni Mage-Lord who ruled over this area.

A guard directed me towards the ‘Service Tower’ where, he said, I would find the Apothecary. Gaining access to the tower was somewhat difficult, and required me to levitate onto a rampart before I could enter. Inside, the tower was a busy bustle of noise as various merchants traded with the locals. Andil was easy enough to find, and he quickly took the potions from me and gave me three very high quality restore health and three restore fatigue potions in recompense.

I returned to the Telvanni Council Chambers, where Galos Mathendis thanked me and paid me five hundred Septims for delivering the potions.

“We have no further tasks for you Sera Vahl,” Galos said in response to my questions. “Perhaps it’s time that you sought a patron who will further your career within the House.”

“Can you, perhaps, suggest someone who would be willing to be my patron?” I asked.

Galos looked at me for a while, and then said, “I’ve been looking to return to my research into the correlation between Daedric Shrines and Dwemeri ruins: a subject I’ve neglected for a long time while I’ve acted as Mouth for Master Aryon.

“My master is quite progressive as Mage-Lords go,” he continued speculatively. “It is possible that he’d be willing to be your patron. And, if you please him, he might promote you to being his Mouth ~ which would allow me to get back to my research.” Lowering his voice and stooping to whisper in my ear, he added, “I happen to know that my Master is seeking some Daedra Skin. He would look kindly on anyone who could supply him with some.”

Thanking him, I made a beeline for the shop of Anis Seloth. She seemed surprised that I wanted such a rare and expensive item, but readily sold me a small piece of the greyish leathery material for one hundred and sixty-five Septims.

“I’m sorry Sera Vahl,” Fara said, “but we have no rooms available for tonight. I’ve been turning patrons away for the last couple of hours. I believe that even the Gateway is full, although I suspect Angaredhel would find you somewhere to sleep since you solved his little problem.”

I didn’t fancy trying to sleep in some storeroom so I headed towards Wolverine Hall as quickly as I could, cursing monotonously the whole way at my own stupidity. I should have known that, tonight of all nights, there would be no rooms at any Inn.

“Walk you to Wolverine Hall ma’am,” the legionnaire near the bank said. “It’s getting somewhat late and you don’t want to be outside in the dark… Alone… Not tonight,” he finished with a shiver. I thanked him and we hurried quickly into the warmth of the garrison.

Thankfully, the Guild-Guide was willing to return me to Balmora, despite the gathering gloom outside. I ran, all dignity forgotten, through the deserted streets of Balmora, throwing myself through the doorway of my safe-house as soon as I’d got the damn’ thing unlocked and unwarded. Slamming it shut behind me, I sat down with my back to the wood ~ panting heavily. Damn’, but that had been close. Another ten, fifteen minutes and it would have been dark.

Listening to the wind howling outside (at least, I hoped it was the wind), I sat huddled on the bed with all the blankets around me, thinking about Mathendis’ words. I’d never belonged to anything before, never even thought I needed to belong to anything. Yet Great House Telvanni had welcomed me, a stranger in a strange land. Admittedly, the welcome hadn’t been particularly warm or friendly, but it had been a welcome nonetheless. And, despite my initial reservations, I had been treated well. True, I’d been sent into some rough spots ~ but that was also true of the Fighters Guild and, at least here, I wasn’t covertly working for a criminal organisation. And those tricky missions: well, I’d been extremely well rewarded for undertaking them, hadn’t I?

I knew that I’d get no sleep tonight, what with the winds whistling around the building’s square tower like fiends from Oblivion. And, of course, thinking that, I soon drifted off.

[OverrideB1]

I was informed that Master Aryon was in his chambers atop the mushroom-tower. I’d Void-Walked to Tel Vos after breaking my fast earlier at the ‘Razor’s Hole’ in Balmora. There appeared to be no easy way to reach the chambers, other than clambering to the top of one of the towers and hoping there was a hatch or doorway that led outside. Carefully mustering the shape in my mind, I spoke the words “aer amo calx” and walked upwards towards the tower, the emptiness beneath my feet supporting my weight.

As I landed neatly on the small platform on the side of the tower, I heard a faint cheering noise and turned to see two guards standing on a ledge that jutted precariously from a tall tower nearby. I sketched a neat and sardonic bow in their direction before spinning on my heels and stepping inside Master Aryon’s tower. Where I damn’ near bounced off a wall masquerading as a Man.

“Steady there Lady,” this mammoth of a Man rumbled deep in his chest. “You near did yourself an injury. Let old Turedus help you to your feet.” I allowed the Man to assist me back to my feet. Still holding on to my hand, he bowed low over it and kissed the back. “Master-At-Arms Turedus Talanian at your service my Lady,” he rumbled, “in charge of Master Aryon’s mercenary guard.”

“Sudhendra Vahl,” I replied, “Lawman of Great House Telvanni.” I was rather taken aback by his kissing of my hand, it was such a courtly gesture coming from a man who had all the markings of a Nord ~ not normally known for good manners or such clear speech.

“Are you here to see His Nibs?” Turedus Talanian asked. I raised an eyebrow at him. “Master Aryon,” he amended quickly. I confirmed that this was true.

“So, you’d be looking for some work then?” he asked. “See, the thing is, Master Aryon is trying to forge closer ties between himself and a group of nomadic Ashlanders called ‘The Zainab’. We’ve tried a few times to open trade with them, but they claim we’ve nothing they want or need. I’m pretty certain His Ni... Master Aryon would appreciate any information you happen to gather. And I know I would.”

Assuring the Man that I would let him know of any trade opportunities with these Zainab that I happened to hear about, I continued up into Master Aryon’s chambers. There were two occupants of the chamber, but it was clear which of them was the master here. Dressed in a sumptuous blue robe, decorated with golden thread and a large, dark gemstone, the thin-faced Dunmer spoke emphatically to the taller man standing in front of him. The other man nodded, and sketched a glowing shape in the air with his forefinger. A violet mist rose up around him and, soundlessly, he vanished. I was impressed; I’d never seen a Recall spell cast in that particular fashion before.

“Yes,” Master Aryon said. “You want something?”

“Actually Serjo Aryon,” I replied, “It was my understanding that it was you who wanted something.” With that, I fetched out the small scrap of waxed parchment and opened it to reveal the Daedra Skin.

“Excellent,” he said, rubbing his thin hands together. “I’ll give you three hundred Drakes for it.” I nodded my acceptance of the price and handed it over. “A most useful alchemical ingredient,” he said, counting out the money. “Makes an excellent restorative potion, as well as some more esoteric ones. Of course, if one doesn’t prepare it correctly, it has quite a paralysing effect.

“Tell me,” he added, handing me the money. “Do you know a spell to paralyse your enemies?” When I admitted that I didn’t, he sat me down and showed me how to cast such a spell. His casting method was distinctly different to the methods I’d been taught ~ involving sketching the shape of the magical construct in the air rather than visualising it and speaking a cantrip to activate it. It took me a little while to get the hang of this new technique, but I was soon able to reproduce it.

“I’m seeking a patron,” I said hastily as he appeared to be ready to dismiss me.

“A patron eh?” he said, peering at me closely. “Hmmm, yes. You’re that Outlander aren’t you: Sudhendra Vahl, yes? Yes, I’ve heard a lot about you.

“So you’re looking for a patron then? Actually, Galos has been mentioning that he’s looking forwards to returning to his research and he’s well overdue a promotion. Well, you certainly have the aptitude I’m looking for, and your Imperial background doesn’t hurt either. The question is, do you have the attitude and the ambition I look for? Mathendis fell down rather badly in that department you know.”

He seemed to think about it for a minute or two, then spoke further, “If I were to make you my Mouth, what would you do?”

“Well,” I replied, somewhat tartly, “for one thing, I wouldn’t hang around in that council chamber handing out tasks all day.”

“Ha!” he exclaimed sharply. “Just what I like to hear. I only kept poor Galos there because that’s what he expected. Obviously, if there’s a council meeting called, you’ll have to go there and represent me. Other than that, I see no reason for you to remain cooped up in there all day. So, aptitude, ambition, and attitude ~ I like what I see. Now let’s see if you have what it takes.

“For many more years than you’ve been alive, I’ve been trying to persuade Baladas Demnevanni to accept a promotion and join the council. So far, he has refused all my offers. Convince him to accept what he’s due and to take his place on the council, and I will sponsor you to the very highest levels of the House. Sound fair?”

Had it not been for my previous contact with the Wizard Demnevanni, I would have said it was very fair. However, the cold, impartial attitude with which he’d dealt with me didn’t bode well. I explained this to Master Aryon.

“And why do you think I set you, in particular, this specific task?” he said, with a wicked smirk. “Now shoo, off you go. And don’t bother coming back without some good news.”

I was in a fairly black mood as I translocated to Ald’ruhn and boarded the silt-strider to Gnisis. This just wasn’t fair it wasn’t fair at all. How was I supposed to persuade a snooty, stuck up, and powerful Telvanni mage to do something he, presumably, didn’t want to do? And then a glimmer of a plan came to me. It was a long shot, but it just might work.

[Alexander]

another excellent installment there override. very good really :goodjob:

[OverrideB1]

“Serjo Demnevanni,” I said, bowing deeply before the mage. “I know that you are very busy, and I was wondering if there was anything you needed done?”

Baladas Demnevanni regarded me from under his bushy eyebrows, and I swear I saw a twinkle of amusement in his eye as he replied, “I do have a small chore for you, if you’re so minded.”

Assuring him that I was at his disposal, I listened as he detailed what he needed me to do. “My research is based, as you probably know, on the mystery that is the Dwemer. There are three books I need to continue one particular avenue of investigation. These books are ‘The Chronicles of Nchuleft’, ‘Antecedents of Dwemer Law’, and a book called ‘Fire and Faith’ by Nchunak. Antecedents and Nchunak’s book should be readily available ~ although you’ll probably have to scour the bookshops for them. As for the Chronicles, I have no idea where you might find a copy of that.”

“I happen to have ‘Chronicles of Nchuleft’” right here,” I said, digging the well-preserved volume out of my backpack. For the first, and only time, I saw Baladas surprised.

“What… how… where did you acquire this?” he spluttered, fairly grabbing the book out of my hand. “And in such pristine condition too.”
“I had occasion to be in the ruins at Nchuleft recently,” I said. “I happened across the book on a shelf and took it to study. I will be back as soon as I’ve tracked down the other books.”

Not that Baladas was listening, he was already deeply engrossed in the small volume ~ his quill flying back and forth over a blank sheet of vellum as he made copious notes. I knew one bookseller, Dorisa Darvel, in Balmora. She had quite a stock of old books and, if she didn’t have what I was looking for in stock, she might be able to suggest where I could get copies.

“Nchunak’s ‘Fire and Faith?” Dorisa said, tapping her fingers on the counter. “I’m sure I’ve a copy of that one somewhere. Let me have a look.” With that, she came out from behind her counter and started rummaging around on the shelves. Not finding what she was looking for, she then opened up a chest and started fetching books out of that.

“Ah-ha!” she said triumphantly, holding a slim, orange-bound book aloft. “I knew I had a copy somewhere dear. Now, what was the other book you wanted?”

“‘Antecedents of Dwemer Law’,” I repeated.

She looked crest-fallen, “Oh, I’m sure I haven’t a copy of that. It’s quite a rare book you know. Yes, quite the rarity.” Suddenly, she brightened. “Jobasha!” she exclaimed.

“Your pardon?” I asked.

“Jobasha’s Rare Books,” she said happily. “Jobasha is a Khajiiti trader in Vivec City who specialises in extremely rare books. He’s almost bound to have a copy. You’ll find his shop on the Waistworks of the Foreign Quarter Canton.”

Thanking her, I handed over the sixty-five Septims she wanted for the book and headed towards the Mages Guild. This time I was sure I wasn’t imagining it; my reception at the Mages Guild in both Balmora and Vivec City was distinctly frosty. And, for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why ~ I’d had virtually no dealings with the Guild, other than the usual travel service they offer to everyone.

The plaza of the Foreign Quarter Canton was a hive of activity. Directly opposite, as I stepped out of the Mages Guild, was a building from which the sound of a hammer on metal could be heard clearly above the din. Further down the plaza, stood the imposing bulk of the main Guildhall of the Guild of Fighters. Into every conceivable nook and cranny were crammed vendors selling their wares ~ their cries mixing with the hubbub of the crowd. And what a crowd: well-dressed Bretons and Khajiiti walked in groups or alone, flitting from vendor to vendor and shop to shop. Amidst them, ramrod straight, were the local guards, clad in ornate gilded armour ~ the stern faces of their helms turning this way and that as they scanned the crowd.

Pausing only to purchase a small cone of fried Ash Yams, I headed towards the massive double doors at the eastern end of the plaza. I’m not ashamed to admit that I gawped like the tourist I was, impressed by the massive stone buttresses and overarching bronze roof high overhead and quite overwhelmed by the crowds. The doors swung open soundlessly as I approached, and I stepped out onto the walkway ~ stopping dead at the sight before me.

I was on the upper level of a huge pyramidal building and, in front of me, two more similar structures of slightly lesser height rose up from the rippling canal between them. Arching between them at the upper level was a colossal stone arch: it took me a moment or two to realise that it was a bridge ~ so large was the structure. A huge banner, many stories high, hung from under the bridge and flapped thunderously in the stiff breeze. And, off in the distance beyond these two buildings, I could make out a third, and a fourth ~ all interconnected by enormous bridges. Surely no hand of Man or Mer could have constructed so cyclopean a city.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” a hollow-sounding voice said from behind me.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I said, turning to face the speaker. “Sir,” I added as I found myself face-to-face with the stern metallic features of one of the guards. His thick purple cape swayed in the breeze as suspicious eyes examined me from behind the helm.

“Well, we’ll have no loitering here n’wah,” the guard said, slapping a heavy-looking mace against his palm. “Move along.”

Dipping my head and pretending I hadn’t heard the softly added “scum” the guard had appended to the end of his instructions, I stepped into the Upper Waistworks. This too was a hive of business, although the patrons (and vendors) here were less well dressed than those on the plaza. However, the Ordinator had spoilt the joys of sightseeing and I now wished to conclude my business with as much speed as I could manage.

I really didn’t understand these people: they could be as sweet as Moon Sugar one moment and right bastards the next. I’d become somewhat enured to the continual “outlander” comments directed at me since I noticed that nearly everyone was called the same ~ although I was baffled as to why they’d call me, a fellow Dunmer, an outlander. “Fecher” was another phrase I’d come to know and loathe, but endured since it basically meant outlander anyway. I’d also been called “n’wah” a few times ~ I didn’t know what it meant, but I had a damn’ good idea.

Jobasha turned out to be a likeable enough fellow, far more concerned with his books than he was with anything else. “Jobasha has a copy of ‘Antecedence of Dwemer Law if Dark Elf interested,” he stated in response to my question. “Jobasha has many rare and difficult to get books. It’s what Jobasha do.”

I perused the bookshelves, noting a complete set of ‘A Brief History of Empire’ and an almost complete set of ‘The Chronicles of the Wolf Queen’ along with many other books. While I had no interest in the former, I would have liked to have read about the Wolf Queen Potema: unfortunately, the incomplete set was far too expensive for me to justify. Finally, I found the book I was looking for on a shelf at the back of the shop. The folio-sized volume had certainly seen better days; the leather binding was faded and scuffed. However, it seemed to be complete and Jobasha was willing to let it go, after a little haggling, for twenty-seven Septims.

Translocating to Gnisis, I made my way back into Arvs-Drelen. “Well, well,” Baladas said, turning the books over in his hands, “so you managed to get the books I wanted? Somehow I rather suspected you would. I’ve a few things here that will make a suitable reward.”

The ‘suitable reward’ turned out to be somewhat of an understatement. The amulet, belt, and ring he gave me all carried intriguing enchantments ~ the ring, in particular, would come in very handy since it was ensorcelled with a spell called ‘Ondusi’s Lock-Splitter’ (a spell that could open most common locks). In addition, he also gave me a pair of shoes that he said ‘looked the right size for me’. They were of exquisite manufacture, made of soft creamy leather with delicate stitching. More importantly, however, they sang with that single pure note I’ve come to associate with an enchantment that is continuous. Such enchantments are extortionately expensive, and are usually associated with ancient artefacts of great power.

“Now, let us discuss the real reason you came to see me,” Baladas said as I examined my newest acquisitions. “What,” he said as I looked at him, feigning surprise, “you think I accept that you came all the way from Tel Vos just to run an errand or two for me?”

[Alexander]

yes like I said on the main site, another great addition and I look forward to what follows with Baladas

[OverrideB1]

“Well,” I said sheepishly, “actually there are two things. Firstly, Master Aryon would like me to convince you to join the council. Secondly, I got the impression you knew far more about the Dwemer than you told me.”

“Ahh yes, the Dwemer,” he mused. “My particular area of interest. If I remember, you wanted to know three things. One: what happened to the Dwemer, two: if anyone can read Dwemeric, and three: you wanted information on Dwemer ruins and artefacts.

“My original reply to the question ‘can anyone read Dwemeric’ was true but disingenuous. The truth of the matter is, many of the books were written in Aldmeris, the script of the High Elves, as well as Dwemeric. Theoretically it’s possible to work out a method of translating Dwemer text.

“If you’ve been into Nchuleft, or any other ruin, you’ll have encountered Dwemer artefacts ~ the animalcules that usually guard them. We have no idea how they function of course, or why they’re still function millennia after their creation. There are other artefacts too, certain axes or swords ~ but the Dwemer weren’t big on magic as we understand it, although they do seem to have had techniques which mimic enchanting an item.

“As to the disappearance of the Dwemer,” he continued, “I have a theory…” Baladas then proceeded to tell me his theory about the disappearance of the Dwemer. To be perfectly honest, I only understood every third word, and only those if they were words like ‘and’, ‘the’, ‘if’, and ‘Dwemer’. However, I nodded politely and scribbled a few notes in my journal for form’s sake.

“Aryon is a fool,” Baladas told me, after he’d finished explaining his theories. “He believes I’m a modernist like him.”

“A modernist?” I asked.

“Yes,” he explained. “Aryon believes, truly believes, that Great House Telvanni will benefit if we work towards closer relations with the Empire, like those Hlaalu turncoats. The ‘old guard’: Neloth and Arch-Magister Gothren want no closer ties with the Empire than are absolutely necessary. However, Aryon thinks that the Empire is good for us. It’s his fault we have to put up with that monstrosity of a place, Wolverine Hall.

“What he doesn’t understand,” he added bitterly, “is that the Empire consumes all those it conquers. Look at the Nords of Skyrim, or the Orcs. Many of them have forgotten the old ways, the old religions, and ape the Cyrodiilic ways or worship their ‘Nine Divines’. And that’s what he wants for us…

“You know,” he said suddenly, as though reaching a decision, “perhaps I will join the council for a century or two. See if I can’t put a stop to his little game. Perhaps, if you’re not too loyal to your patron and sponsor, it’s a matter we could discuss at some later date?”

“I would not be adverse to that,” I responded carefully. “I have no great love for the Empire, but I’m hardly in a position to influence Telvanni policy.”

“True, quite true,” he chuckled. “But, I have the suspicion that there is far more to you than meets the eye Sudhendra Vahl. With the right people supporting you, you could go far…” He seemed to drift of into a reverie. Then, abruptly, he spoke again. “Tell Master Aryon that I’ll join the council.”

As I stood outside Arvs-Drelen, I shivered. Baladas Demnevanni was involving me in politics I really didn’t understand. His ambition for me was greater than my ambition for me if I’d understood what he’d hinted at. The other thing that made me shiver was his casual comment that he’d join the council ‘for a century or two’. The span of time Telvanni Mage-Lords worked with would take some getting used to.

“Excellent, you’ve done extremely well,” Aryon crowed delightedly when I gave him the news. “Now, perhaps, we can get something accomplished.” (If only you knew, I thought). “Well, you kept your side of the bargain, so I will keep mine.

“You are now officially named as my Mouth,” he said solemnly. “From this time forward, you speak with my authority in the council and are authorised to enter into such treaties and negotiations as you see fit, subject to my final approval. Here,” he concluded, handing me a silver staff, “is the traditional symbol of a Telvanni Mouth, the Silver Staff of Peace.”

After I’d thanked him, he fetched a book from a nearby shelf and opened it. “Your first task is a simple, yet risky one,” he said. “Vos and, by extension Tel Vos, are supported by the vast deposits of Wickwheat that grow wild in the Grazelands and by the output from the nearby Mudan-Mul Egg-Mine. Unfortunately, the queen has contracted a Blight disease and the mine has become too dangerous for the miners to enter. Your task is to enter the mine and cure the Queen.

“Unfortunately, a simple potion won’t work ~ getting the Queen to drink it would be next to impossible even if it were not so aggressive because of the infection. No, I’m afraid your options are either a scroll or a spell. I have here a complex but effective spell I’ll teach you. However, I would recommend travelling to Gnisis and speaking to the Hetman there ~ I believe he has a stock of scrolls ~ just in case.”

I didn’t fancy travelling to Gnisis again quite so soon, so I paid special attention as Aryon guided me through the spell. Finally I felt I had it mastered and Aryon gave me directions to the mine. Apparently, it was just a short way off to the west and there was a short cut through the cellars of Tel Vos.

Fool that I am, I opted for the short cut. Of that journey I’ll say little, other than to advise you: if a Telvanni says you can visit their cellar ~ smile politely and walk away. The rats down there were the very least of my problems and, when I emerged, panting and shaken into the sunlight, I had to drink several healing potions before I felt I could go any further.

As promised, the mine was but a short walk from the cellar exit and I knew, the moment I stepped inside, that something wasn’t right here. The thick sulphurous smell was still there, but there was also a sweet sickly smell, like meat that has gone rancid. And the Blight had permeated the mine, every creature from the normally docile Workers to the heavily armoured Guardians seemed eager to add me to their diet. Hacking and slashing my way deeper into the mine, it was a humble Forager that nearly killed me.

The worm-like creature had been hiding behind a rock, and the first I knew of its presence was a sharp pain as the fangs ripped through the knee-joint of my greaves. Turning, I stamped on it as hard as I could, driving the spike on the axe down into it. The bite was a minor injury, and nothing to concern myself with. Or so I thought.

I had barely gone a dozen paces when an unusual lethargy descended on me. In seconds I was simultaneously shivering and sweating, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold my axe. My vision blurred, doubled, and then redoubled while my throat became as dry as the Molag Amur itself. I was so weary; surely a little rest couldn’t hurt?

[Alexander]

and that attack of that worm as well. I wonder. did it infect sudhendra with blight or something else maybe?

[OverrideB1]

“WAKE UP!” I screamed at myself as I sagged against a convenient wall. Collapsing to the floor, I fumbled with the flap on my pack with hands that seemed determined not to obey. I could barely make out the script on the potion bottle as I dragged it out of the pack with arms that seemed to weight as much as mountains…

I coughed; jerking upright as the potion did its work, cleansing me of the Blight disease the Forager had infected me with. I proceeded with a great deal more caution after that, still feeling nauseous despite the potion’s effects. Anything that wasn’t obviously the Kwama Queen was hit, from a distance, by a spell ~ I had no more potions to hand and I wasn’t taking any chances. Finally, physically and magically drained, I arrived at the Queen’s chamber.

After drinking down my last restore magicka potion ~ this little jaunt was turning out to be extremely expensive in terms of potions ~ I relaxed as best as I could before sketching the shapes of Aryon’s spell in the air. As the symbols slowly faded, I could see a spiral of blue light swirling around the Queen. The creature stopped threshing about, and I could just about make out that the blisters and sores that adorned its body were fading.

I made my way wearily back to Tel Vos, this time avoiding the cellars and taking the long way around. Fortunately, I had a levitation potion to hand; otherwise I would have used the last dregs of my magicka reaching the top of the tower. Master Aryon was pleased when I told him his spell had worked, and rewarded me with a book that he said would help me understand alteration spells.

Thanking him, I set a Mark in his chambers and then returned to Balmora, where I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

My first job, after breaking my fast at the ‘Eight Plates’, was to deposit some of my money into the bank. I was bemused to learn that my account now had some two and a half thousand Septims in it: more money than I’ve ever had. That done, I left the bank and spoke the words “Ut locus Ego eram pro” that would take me back to Aryon’s chambers atop Tel Vos.

“Sudhendra Vahl,” Aryon beamed, “I trust you are well? All of Vos is talking about you, and how you risked your life to cure the Queen. You’ve become somewhat of a local celebrity. While they may be content to laude you, I have another task for you. This one you’ll find somewhat less onerous, trust me.

“If I am to sponsor you, I need to know that you have mastered at least the basic spells a Telvanni needs. So, I’d like you to demonstrate that you can cast a fireball, that you can levitate without the use of potions or charms, and that you can cast the spell Recall. Since I already know you can cast Mark, you’ll just need to demonstrate you can Recall, again without potions or charms. This guard will accompany you to the lower chamber, where he will watch as you cast Recall.”

I followed Turedus downstairs into the lower chamber and took a moment to compose myself. I was slightly annoyed that I was being made to perform like this, but I could understand Master Aryon’s reasons for asking if I could do what, to a Telvanni, amounted to magic for beginners. Repeating the cantrip I’d already used this morning, I made what must have been the shortest Recall on record.

“Excellent,” Aryon said. “Now, levitation if you wouldn’t mind.”

Smirking, I started to speak the words of the spell, stopping when Master Aryon shook his head. “No, no, and thrice no,” he said. “Mumbling spells is perfectly fine when you have the luxury of plenty of time, but that’s not the best way to do a spell. I know that the Imperials teach this method, but it simply won’t do. Look, let me show you.”

For the next couple of hours, Master Aryon patiently taught me how to visualise the spell-construct in my head without incanting a spell, and how to focus the Arcane Forces to sketch the shape in the air in front of me to give the spell added power. When we’d finished, I had amply demonstrated my ability to cast every spell I knew, and learned how to shape and manipulate the streams of magicka to formulate my spells. (I must admit, however, that I still had ~ and still do have ~ a preference for the old Cyrodiilic incantations. I was just very careful not to use them around any Telvanni).

“Very well done,” he said when the lesson ended. “I have a book here, by Zurin Arctus, that will teach you how to use magic in combat situations. I think you deserve it.”

I thanked Aryon and took the book with me down to the Varo Tradehouse. As I munched my way through an excellent meal of fried fish, I read the first few chapters of ‘The Art of War’. My patron hadn’t been mistaken when he said I’d find the book useful ~ in just the first chapter, I found a few tricks that would help me use destructive magic more efficiently. Finishing off my tisane, I nodded my thanks to the proprietor and then carefully formed the shape of a Recall spell in my mind. Almost instantly, I found myself back in Master Aryon’s chambers.

Master Aryon was talking to a shimmering sphere of white light. “No, I quite understand Muthsera Faram. I will take care of it. In fact, the right person for the job has just arrived.” Making a small gesture, he dismissed the sphere and turned to me.

[Alexander]

very good. I just knew it was that blight disease there

and I wonder what will be next. the attack, well I wonder how Sudhendra is going to deal with that

[OverrideB1]

“The Hlaalu are making one of their infrequent grabs for Odirniran,” he explained. “Here, let me show you where it is on your map…” We spread the map out on the table, and Master Aryon pointed to the peninsula of land at the extreme southwestern end of the island. “As you can see, Odirniran dominates the headland and gives a superb view of any sea borne vessel approaching from the east. Hlaalu would dearly love to get their hands on it since it would deprive Great House Telvanni of much of our knowledge of Great House Hlaalu’s smuggling operations in that area.

“I want you to travel to Odirniran as quickly as possible and protect Milyn Faram. I trust you’ll deal harshly with those Hlaalu scum?”

Resolving to ask Master Aryon about his attitudes to the Hlaalu ~ given that they were the Great House most closely allied with the Empire, and Baladas had said that Master Aryon wished to forge closer ties with the Cyrodiils ~ I prepared to translocated to Tel Branora. And, of course, that was the first time I managed to screw up the spell! I had the shape of the spell formed in my mind and was just preparing to enable it when the whole structure twisted and deformed, collapsing completely. So, rather embarrassingly, I had to speak the words of the spell to travel to my destination.

There’s little to tell of my journey north: the usual problems with the aggressive wildlife that infests the island. I must be getting better at this fighting lark since I had little or no problems dealing with them. So it was that I came to Odirniran.

This was the same sort of domed building as Arvs-Drelen; a style I’d been informed was ‘Velothi’. As with many of these places, the building had been ‘submerged’ in the living rock by some Art long forgotten. The door wasn’t bolted or warded, and I was able to enter with no problems. Of course, my problems started almost immediately thereafter.

Master Aryon’s instructions had been to locate Milyn Faram and find out how many of the Hlaalu had invested his tower. It was, as plans go, eminently sensible and it’s a real shame I didn’t have a chance to put it into operation. All of these Velothi-style buildings have a vestibule, a sort of small outer chamber that opens onto the inner corridors. I can only assume that they are intended as an area where the master of the tower can meet with visitors or traders. Since the structure of the building was so similar to Arvs-Drelen, I may have been a little overconfident in my approach.

I’d no sooner stepped into the inner corridor and looked around to see which way to go than a scruffily dressed woman stepped around a corner to my left. We spotted each other at the same time and, as she rushed at me, I struggled to draw my sword. I managed to get my blade up just in time, and there was an echoing ‘clang’ as metal met metal. This, of course, alerted another of the Hlaalu scum who was in the room around the corner and he came running to assist.

Now I had a major problem for the corridor was just wide enough for the two of them to simultaneously attack me. Fortunately, the man was armed with nothing more offensive than a dagger ~ which my armour turned quite nicely. But it was only a matter of time before he got in a stroke that my armour wouldn’t turn, and then I’d be in trouble. Or, more accurately, more trouble: the woman with the sword was a well-trained fighter and it was all I could do to block her strikes. Retaliation was out of the question.

“Coward!” the man screamed as I broke off from combat and raced down the corridor away from them. Light armour meant that I was slightly swifter than they were, and all I needed was a few seconds grace. As they rounded the corner, they came face to face with a Telvanni Mouth, full of righteous anger and fully ready for them.

“Obscurum successio” I chanted as they came into view. A cloud of greenish vapour enveloped them and, from inside the obscuring cloud came screams of anguish. The cloud cleared quickly, and the two Hlaalu were once more revealed to me. I, however, was not revealed to them.

Milky white cataracts covered their eyes as a result of the spell and they hurled imprecations as they groped and staggered. I took little pride and no pleasure in killing them; it was too much like butchery for that. Having cleansed the gore from my blade, I made my way back down the corridor towards where they’d been hiding ~ only this time, I was as careful and as quiet as I could be.

It was a wise tactic for; in the large chamber at the end of the corridor, a spell-caster from House Hlaalu awaited me. He had a fondness for spells from the school of illusion, and the whole of my right arm went numb when I got caught in the backwash of one of his paralyzation spells. It was something of a standoff, he wouldn’t come out of the room he was in and I certainly wasn’t going to go in while he was throwing such dangerous spells around. There was a certain amount of badinage and name-calling going back and forth along with the spells.

“Telvanni filth,” he yelled. “Come in and get me. If you dare.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated, drawing on the forces swirling around me as I carefully constructed the shape of the spell in my mind. Opening my eyes, I carefully traced the complex pattern of “phasmatis” in the air with my forefinger. Swirling motes of dust gathered directly in front of me and slowly formed into a stern, matriarchal figure. One of the Hlaalu’s spells splashed against the wall nearby, and the ancestral spirit responded instantly. The stern, yet friendly, features melted away to reveal the ghastly visage beneath as the fingers extended and glowed with eldritch fire. Sweeping away from me and into the room, the spirit I’d summoned went forth to wreak bloody revenge.

And retribution most dire it must have been, if the spell-caster’s screams and cries were aught to go by. I shuddered and flinched as a particularly brilliant flash lit the room and the corridor I stood in. After that, a sudden silence descended. Taking a steadying breath, I stepped into the chamber. And screamed loudly as a hand clutched my leg.

The bloody ruin of the spell-caster glared up at me, his face reddened and blistered where it wasn’t burned black. He hissed some imprecation at me but it was too soft for me to hear and his passing prevented me from asking him to repeat it. Not that it would have been particularly illuminating if I’d had the chance. Carefully disengaging myself from his clutching hand, I stepped back and surveyed the chamber. It seemed to be some sort of living area, possibly for the tower’s servants. The Hlaalu had used it as a staging area, and I wondered why they’d not proceeded further into Odirniran.

I soon found the reason why. Back from the chamber, the corridor ran in a tight curve until it ended at a door. Even without casting, I could see the wards on the wooden surface ~ venomous and vile things that whispered of agonising pain and lingering death. And that didn’t take into account the strangely wrought lock. I was, however, to get another surprise. As I drew close to the door to examine the spells that were woven into the very fabric of the wood, the wards flared and collapsed as, with a heavy clicking sound, the lock unfastened itself. The door, now totally inert, swung open at my touch.

When I stepped through into the dimly lit area beyond, the door swung shut and the lock and wards re-engaged immediately. Which was an impressive bit of magic, but it did leave me trapped on the wrong side of the door with something of a problem. Racing towards me, shouting syllables of some strange language was a bizarre figure clad in dark armour and wielding a vicious-looking mace.

At first sight, the armour appeared to be made of Ebony (a fact which worried me somewhat since the figure was uncommonly fleet of foot despite the huge mass of such armour) but it had odd highlights of red and purple that looked like no Ebony armour I’d ever seen. Then there was the outlandish nature of the being inside the armour. It had the same skin tones as a Dunmer, but had Mannish ears and strangely shaped eyes that, while crimson, seemed to burn with an inner flame. The mouth was much too large for the elongated face, a face covered with whorls and patterns that seemed to be part of the flesh rather than some tattooed design. Topping the head was a topknot of copper-coloured hair that streamed behind the figure like a plume as it ran effortlessly towards me.

All of these observations ran through my mind as I readied myself, naked blade drawn back and ready as it approached. The downward arc of the mace was arrested by the upward sweep of my blade ~ a sweep that I turned into a ferocious slash at the armoured chest. Sparks flew, and I almost got my head caved in as a screaming face flickered across the cuirass of the creature in front of me. Ducking under the mace’s arc, I stabbed inward with my sword.

Again sparks flew, but this time they were the sparks of lightning from the blade’s enchantment. The creature staged, emitting a strange moan as lightning played across the screaming armour. And there was no mistaking it this time ~ there was an inhuman face screaming in agony, as if of some spirit magically embedded in the dark metal. The armour wasn’t enchanted, there was no music from it, and I was at a loss to explain what I saw as I hammered repeatedly at this malevolent being, driving it back towards the pit it had come from.

The armour cracked under my frantic blows, dulling instantly to grey. The effect on the creature was both immediate and astonishing. It dropped its mace and threw back its head, roaring in bestial agony as, starting from the boots upwards it simply turned into powder before my eyes. Almost in the same time it takes to relate, the creature was gone, changed to dust. Odd dust too, for it seemed to be little more than powdered stone of the same shade as the walls: almost as if the being had formed itself from the very fabric of the building.

Milyn Faram, when I finally reached him in the dome atop Odirniran, was a pleasant but eccentric fellow. Firstly he thanked me for dealing with the Hlaalu invaders, and then he started telling me about his research. As far as I could determine, he was experimenting with alternate ways of creating summoning scrolls. It seems that creating a scroll in the traditional way requires the summoning and soul-capture of the creature. The essence, or soul, of the creature is then bound into the fabric of the scroll along with various glyphs of summoning and binding. However, Milyn Faram had been having some success (at least according to him) using actual physical parts of the creature to be summoned rather than parts ineffable and transmundane. Seeing that I was having difficulty following his theories, the Summoner presented me with half-a-dozen scrolls and told me to try them out when I needed them.

Thinking that I’d rather not rely on experimental magic in a pinch, I thanked him before casting Recall and returning to Tel Vos. It was rather later than I’d thought so I took a room at the Sethan Tradehouse for the night.

[OverrideB1]

Master Aryon was in a fine mood this morning, rubbing his hands together gleefully as he thanked me for dealing with the Hlaalu “rebels” that had invaded Odirniran. So that was to be the way of it, eh? “Rebels” ~ somehow I seriously doubted that. “I’ve a staff and a book here for you Sudhendra,” he said. “The book I’m sure you’ll find interesting, but the staff is something rather… experimental. I’ve managed to bind a soul-trapping spell into the staff but, for some reason, it either doesn’t work properly or is exceptionally efficient. And I don’t know why. Perhaps you could do some research on it and figure it out?

“Now,” he said once I’d thanked him, “you’ve proven yourself remarkably efficient at getting things done. I like that in those who have my patronage. I have a task of great importance for you: one that, without exaggeration, could be described as vital to Great House Telvanni.

“As you know, the Mages Guild likes to control the teaching of magic throughout the Empire. Great House Telvanni would like to teach magic here on Vvardenfell but the Guild would not allow it. However, there is a clause in the Great Armistice that will allow us to do just that ~ provided we can get the support of at least one other Great House. Indoril and Dres are too tied up in their own affairs, and Hlaalu wouldn’t support us since it isn’t profitable to them. Great House Redoran and their damnable honour could be persuaded to support us.”

“If you’ll pardon me for asking,” I asked, “but why is this so important?”

“That’s the beauty of it Sudhendra Vahl,” he chortled. “Once the Mages Guild see that we are interested in cooperating with them, they’ll accept us and we can use their support to forge closer ties with the Empire. Simple, and elegant isn’t it?”

I nodded, thinking to myself that Master Aryon had no real concept of how hard the Mages Guild would fight such a decision. Even I, who’d had only the most peripheral dealings with that stuck-up body of aloof nincompoops, knew that. He, filled with the vision of the future he was creating, continued. “We need the support of at least three of the Redoran councillors. I suggest you start with Serjo Athyn Sarethi; he and I have had dealings before and he is someone who can be trusted.

“There is one other matter that you need to concern yourself with. You’ll need to speak to Llunela Hleran as soon as possible. You can find her in the Hermitage beneath the Council Chambers in Sadrith Mora. I suggest you speak to her before undertaking the task in Ald’ruhn.”

The Mer wouldn’t be drawn on the subject of why this Llunela Hleran wished to see me so I resolved to take his advice and start in Sadrith Mora. There were warrens of tunnels beneath the Telvanni Council Chambers that I’d never suspected existed. Down they snaked through the living rock, terminating in other tunnels or chambers. Finally I found the Hermitage: a huge cavern deep beneath the Council Chambers. There, in the strange flickering light of some huge crystals, I met Llunela Hleran.

“You must be the Outlander Sudhendra Vahl,” she said, peering at me through the gloom. “Draw closer Muthsera and let us talk.” She made a small gesture, and fire bloomed in a small grate. The dancing flames illuminated a graceful, white haired Mer of considerable years. She smiled and motioned for me to sit while she brewed some tisane.

“You and I need to talk about your stronghold,” she said, looking at me through the sweet vapour rising from her cup.

“Stronghold?” I repeated. Llunela went on to explain that most Telvanni acquired a place of their own as soon as they could. Mid-ranking Telvanni used many caves and Velothi dwellings across Vvardenfell’s east coast as strongholds. Partially this was because of the traditional Telvanni distain and distrust of others of their House, but mostly it was for the benefit of the Great House. When I queried this, Llunela went on to clarify. The presence of a stronghold consolidated Telvanni power ~ the influence of a Tel often extending far beyond the imposed boundaries of the land it was constructed on.

“Many strongholds are places seized by members of the House during the early years of our expansion into Vvardenfell,” she said. “As such, they are not strictly speaking, legal Telvanni holdings and there have been many Redoran and Hlaalu complaints about that in Grand Council, believe me.” Smiling wolfishly, she went on to say, “that’s why Master Aryon wishes for your stronghold to be constructed legally and traditionally. To start such a tower, I’ll need two strong souls that you’ll need to trap into these gems. On the legal side, you’ll need to get a construction contract from the Duke Vedam Dren in Ebonheart.”

“Strong souls?” I echoed looking at the strange stones she’d given me.

“Yes, strong souls,” she said with a smile. “Something like a Golden Saint or a Winged Twilight. Although, to be honest, I’ve found that Storm Atronach souls work best ~ for some reason they provide the strongest foundations for a Tel.”

She gladly helped when I explained just how confused I was, telling me what I needed to so. “You’ll need to find a couple of Storm Atronachs and soul-trap them,” she told me, “and they can usually be found near Daedric ruins. However, a far better idea is to learn a spell to summon them, or get yourself a scroll.”

“But what about soul-trapping?” I wailed, feeling completely out of my depth. “I’m no enchanter, and wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Get yourself a soul-trap spell, or a scroll, or an ensorcelled item,” she said. “That staff you carry, that would work well.” She paused, and then spoke in a quiet voice, “I’ve heard of a sword that carries a powerful soul-trap enchantment. It’s rumoured to be in Suran, but you can never be sure with these things. As to the summoning, I’m sure there’s a Summoner here in Sadrith Mora that’d sell you a spell.”

I looked at the staff Master Aryon had given me and thought about the few Atronachs I’d seen. Massive, hulking things ~ and this mad woman expected me to hit it with a simple silver staff until it fell over dead? The sword she’d alluded to sounded better and better all the time.

I did, indeed, find a Mer who was willing to sell me a spell to summon a Storm Atronach. It cost quite a bit for him to teach me the spell, but it wasn’t that complicated and, thankfully, he was willing to teach me a spoken form of the spell, albeit in Dunmeric. He was willing to sell me some scrolls that would create the soul-trapping effect for me, but the idea of a weapon that would do the work for me was much more appealing. Since the only information I had was that this weapon might be in Suran, I translocated myself to Balmora and then got the silt-strider to Suran.

“I don’t know of any sword,” Desele said when I asked her about it. “No, wait, there’s that belligerent Orc south of town that keeps going on about how his sword is his life. Maybe that’s what you’re looking for?”

I didn’t know if it was or not, but it seemed like a good place to start. I headed out of town and down towards the road that led into the Molag Amur. There were a couple of paths that led off this, into the mountains, and it was at the end of one of these I met the Orc.

You never know what you’re going to get when you meet an Orc. They all look brutish and aggressive, with their little eyes and heavy brows, massive muscles and aggressive attitude. Many of them live up to your original perception of them but this one did not.

“Why have you sought me out?” the Orc asked in a cultured but rough voice. “Are you, perhaps, the one I’ve been waiting for?”

“Who are you, and who have you been waiting for?” I asked.

“Who I am is unimportant,” he replied. “If it’s a name you must have, call me by the name of my blade. It and I have been together so many years it’s difficult to know where one of us ends and the other begins. Yes, that will do.”

For the first time, I noticed the naked blade slung across his back. Broad though the Orc was (and made bulkier still by his armour), I could still see the hilt and point of the sword. Black as night it was, and the pommel was inset with small red gems. Around the grip was wound soft brown leather, tied off with black leather twine. Only one of the cross-guards could be seen ~ it was as black as the rest of the blade but decorated with a fine pattern of golden inlay. Seeing me looking at it, the Orc nodded.

“Yes, that is ‘Umbra’,” he said. “It has been my boon and my bane to bear it for many a long year. Armies I have led across countless fields of war, laying waste to my foes until Umbra dripped red with their blood. In single combat I’ve stood and fought many ~ Man and Mer ~ and all have fallen before me. Unbowed and undefeated I stand here… and I grow weary of it.”

“Weary?” I asked, cautiously.

“Aye,” he replied. “Once I had a name, a real name, and was a warlord of my people. Then I found this blade and I was called The Warrior. That was a long count of years ago, and I’ve forgotten who I was ~ now all I am is a tired warrior who wishes to find the ultimate peace.

“But there’s the rub Dark Elf,” he said, laughing bitterly. “All who stand before me in combat inevitably loose. So, I ask again, are you the one I’ve been waiting for? The one who can stand against me in battle and best me?”

I looked up at the Orc, towering above me in his massive Orcish armour with that blade at his back. “Hmmmm, no. Goodbye.”

The blade appeared in his hand as if by magic, and he sneered at me. “You deliberately seek me out? For what purpose if not to take that which makes me what I am? Are you so much a coward?”

As I struggled to get out an answer past my rising anger, he spoke again, softly. “Reconsider your decision Elf. Turn your back on me and I shall surely cut you down before you’ve taken a step.”

[Alexander]

what a great appraoch to Umbra. really leaving sudhendra no choice but to fight him. very nicely done.

and that aprt where she was told about the stronghold, excellent

[treydog]

Such wonderful writing. I particularly enjoyed the battle with the Hlaalu and the description of soul-trapping.

[minque]

Ah yes now I´ve been reading some glorious Sudhendra-installments, and the descriptions of how she acts in battle is very trustworthy, I mean she´s a young woman and it´s more likely she´s not an uber-hero that always swing her axe and then pooof..no no, Sudhendra fights like a woman, ok a strong and skilled one with considerable magical skills.......But at the same time she´s "human" and that fascinates me a lot..

So Override...you certainly know a lot about women!!!!