The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Part 2 Options

[OverrideB1]

“Well,” I said brightly as I drew my sword, “since you put it like that… Yes, I’m the one you’ve been waiting for. Now it’s time for you to die.”

“Whatever Gods you pray to,” ‘Umbra’ rumbled as he took a step back, “make your peace with them. For one of us will surely die this day.”

I took a deep breath and calmed myself. I don’t know what mad power keeps shoving me into these situations, but I wasn’t about to pray to it ~ curse it maybe, but not pray. Besides, the Orc actually wanted to die, how much of a fight would he put up?

I barely managed to block his downward blow, my sword singing out and shaking my whole body with the force of the impact. I leapt backwards to avoid a scything cross-cut that would have left me in two parts had it connected, and then managed to block the third blow ~ even though it drove me to my knees. ‘Umbra’ pressed down against my blade, letting me know that he could end the fight here and now if he so chose. Then, shaking his head, he stepped back to allow me to my feet.

The black blade sung as it cut through the air, cleaving my chitin shield in twain and cracking the armour covering my left arm. From the excruciating pain that followed, I guessed that the shield and armour weren’t the only things broken. Staggering back, I barely managed to bring my sword up and block the next blow. There was a wicked whistling sound and a sharp pain in my left earlobe.

Blinking, I looked at the stub of my sword ~ the force of the last blow had shattered it several inches from the hilt. The pain in my ear didn’t abate and I feared that the shards of my own weapon had drawn blood. ‘Umbra’ grinned ferally, gripping the hilt of his sword and bringing it up for the killing blow. Blow this for a game of soldiers…

“aer amo calx” I yelled, back-pedalling as quickly as I could. As I felt the spell catch, I made a running jump for a rock that stood in solitary splendour overlooking our battlefield. Soaring through the air, I landed atop the pinnacle and turned to face the enraged Orc. Clutching my injured arm tight against my body, I concentrated for a moment and then spoke the words I’d recently learned.

“Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata.” I’d never attempted such a complex spell before, and I felt my magicka draining out of me. Stendarr, I hoped this worked ~ if it didn’t, I’d have nothing left. There was a ponderous groaning noise as the rocks opposite me stretched and distorted unnaturally. Strange shapes played across the dark surface, shadows where there shouldn’t be any. There was a peculiar twisting sensation behind my eyes: what had been ridges became fingers, what had been shadows became features. With a baleful glance in my direction, the newly-created Storm Atronach ground itself free of the bare rock it had formed from and slowly turned to face the Orc.

With an almighty crash, the ebon blade slammed into the rocky hide of my summoned creature. For all the effect it had, the Orc might as well have been hitting it with a broom. Craggy fists bunched, swept upwards… and hurled themselves down on the hapless warrior. The swift-moving blade deflected the worst of the blow but, even so, the sheer force made the heavily muscled Orc stagger. Again and again they struck, two titans locked in combat. Mist swirled up every time the blade struck the Atronach, and that mist was laced through time and time again with the electric energy the demonic creature controlled. Before too long, I lost sight of the combatants.

Suddenly, the sounds of fighting stopped and a dreadful silence descended. With great care I clambered down from my precarious perch ~ drawing my axe as soon as my feet touched solid ground. It was a needless precaution. Of the Atronach, there was no sign and the mighty warrior lay, broken and bleeding, on the ground. With a grunt, ‘Umbra’ raised himself to an elbow and peered at me, grinning with bloodstained teeth. With a painful movement of the head, he summoned me towards him.

“Don’t mourn for me wizard,” he gasped. “’Tis what I’ve sought these many years. The blade is yours, use it well.” He managed a burbling laugh, bloody froth appearing at his mouth. “Funny, really. Gods knows how long fighting strapping great hulks of warriors and a little woman like you… manages where they… all failed. Should have ‘membered my father’s… advice: Never fight a wizard, they’re” His eyes glazed and his head slumped. For a long while, I just knelt there ~ honouring the memory of this fallen hero.

Rising to my feet, I carefully arrayed his braided hair and cleaned his face before laying my shattered sword at his feet. His battered armour I left in place, mute testament to his valour. Raising a cairn of rocks around him, I paid my final respects and turned to the sword Umbra. Reaching out, I wrapped my hand around the hilt and grasped it firmly.

How shall I describe it? An unearthly voice sang discordant notes in my mind as visions of death, destruction, bloodshed, and glory filled my head. “Here, at last,” With a grunt of effort, I forced the visions out and mastered my rising bloodlust, stilling that cold, heartless voice. The future it had promised was so beguiling, the promises soft and seductive ~ but I would remain Sudhendra Vahl, mistress of my own destiny and not become some appendage to an ancient sword.

What I needed now was healing, and a few minutes rest. A potion took care of the former ~ the latter would have to await my return to Balmora. The translocation spell dropped me in the main square of the town, and I staggered back to the home I’d appropriated from Dura gra-Bol. Dropping my pack just inside the door, I threw myself onto the bed and moaned in sheer delight.

When I woke, an hour or so later, I felt oddly refreshed, more than could be accounted for by such a brief nap. The sword had been massively heavy when I first picked it up ~ now it seemed substantially lighter. To this strange feeling of strength was added a lightness of step and a feeling of being, in some indefinable way, smarter than I had been. It was a most peculiar sensation. Almost whistling, I set of into town and purchased a couple of additional restore magicka potions from Nelcarya. This done, I returned to the house and bolted the door.

Hefting the sword, I spoke the cantrip again ~ gasping as the walls themselves deformed to spew forth a Storm Atronach. Strange to relate, summoning this one seemed less… draining than the one I’d summoned to fight ‘Umbra’. Nor was the creature as tough as the one the Orc had battled, it’s rocky exterior crumbling to nothingness as the sword hammered into it repeatedly. There was a brief sensation of heat from within the pouch at my waist, and I examined its contents carefully. One off the dull golden coloured gems was unchanged. Ah, but the other most definitely was: it glowed with a muted light and, deep in the depths of the stone, strange lights flickered and danced.

The second Atronach fell as quickly and as easily as the first had, and I took a little while to ponder on this. I theorised thus: the Atronach summoned to fight ‘Umbra’ had been wrought from the hard, volcanic rock in the valley. These were formed of the much lighter material of the building I stood in. So, they were not as strong on the material plane as the very first one had been, although the essence of them that was trapped in the stone was ~ or so I sincerely hoped. Feeling remarkably pleased with myself, I locked both Umbra and the two soul-stones in the wooden chest and headed out towards the silt-strider port.

I sat back and relaxed as I travelled south, thinking about my novel solution to the problem that ‘Umbra’ had set me. I had, in the last month or so, improved enormously from the pale and weakened figure that had stepped onto land in Seyda Neen. While I was still not up to my old standard ~ even at the peak of my skills, I’d have stood no chance against ‘Umbra’ ~ I was slowly returning to where I’d been. The thing was, I was learning entirely different skills: in my old life (as I already thought of it) I’d relied on my skills with an axe and short-bladed sword, quick thinking and quicker feet, and the occasional touch of magic. Now, magic played a much more important part in my skill-set and my weaponry skills weren’t as honed as they had been. As the drover yelled “Vivec City, end of the line”, I resolved that I would remedy that as soon as I could.

The walk through the Ascadian Isles was pleasant, low rolling hills and shaded groves of trees. Before too long, I caught sight of the austere towers of the Imperial Fortress at Ebonheart. I’d spent much of my life in walled towns that looked and felt the same as this, I reflected as I walked across the bridge leading into the town. So it was surprising the depth of dislike I suddenly felt for these bland stonewalls. Pulling my collar up around my neck, I walked through the crowded streets of the town towards the massive Imperial structure looming up ahead.

“Name and business?” a guard said, stepping in front of me as I reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the long causeway that joined the Duke’s castle to the rest of the town. I fixed the guard, who was clad in a silver breastplate and a long, flowing purple cape, in addition to more traditional armour, with a haughty glare.

“Muthsera Sudhendra Vahl,” I snapped. “Mouth of Great House Telvanni and here on official House business that need not concern you.” He gave me an insolent grin and moved aside ~ barely ~ to let me past. Fuming, I stomped across the bridge and threw open the massive wooden doors. My barely civil questions as to the Duke’s whereabouts led me into a circular stairwell, at the top of which the Duke stood in a large chamber. Next to him stood a sour-faced Imperial clad in very ornate armour, and two well-dressed individuals. The Duke himself, was instantly apparent.

Despite his small stature and narrow features, Duke Vedam Dren cut an imposing figure. Part of it might have been his clothing ~ made of opalescent material that shimmered in the lantern light ~ and part of it might have been the ornate black cuirass he wore. Mostly thought it was the air of authority he wore ~ authority bred in the bone. “Yes, may we help you?” he said in a languid, bored tone.

“I have come to ask you for a construction contract on behalf of Great House Telvanni,” I replied, deliberately leaving out his title and any form of honorific after glancing at the three Cyrodiils surrounding him.

“Yes, we were informed that you were on your way,” he said in the same bored tone. “We have it right here. But first, you must make us a promise.

“You must protect the people who settle around your stronghold for us,” he continued, a slight hint of anger in his voice when I made no reply. “They will be vassals of your estate, under your personal protection at all times. Do we have such a promise from you?”

“You have my word of honour that I shall protect my people at all costs,” I said, emphasising the word ‘my’ and ignoring the snicker from one of the Imperials when I said ‘honour’. He nodded, apparently that was good enough for him, and handed over a sheet of thick vellum. In amongst all the “whys” and “wherefores”, stood my name and the words ‘Uvirith’s Grave’. Odd, I’d never seen my name on an official document that wasn’t an arrest warrant before. With a barely polite bow, I stepped out of the chamber and returned to Balmora. Once I’d collected the soul-stones, I translocated myself to Sadrith Mora and made my way down to the Hermitage.

“These are excellent,” Llunela Hleran said, examining the stones carefully, “and the paperwork is all in order. I shall issue instructions immediately to start construction.” Thanking her, I returned to the house in Balmora for the night.

[minque]

“aer amo calx”

and

“Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata.”

Hilarious, now then what do those phrases actually mean? The first is latin I know that but the second.....must be gaelic...if I´m not completely mistaken...

Well maybe there should be a "dictionary"

Oh and te fight between Umbra and Sudhendra ......how utterly beautifully described, not to mention the part when she honours the orc after his death, that was wonderful and very touching, just the thing a woman like her really would do.

If I was in Vvardenfell I would certainly like to meet Sudhendra! :kiss:

[Alexander]

“aer amo calx”

and

“Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata.”

Hilarious, now then what do those phrases actually mean? The first is latin I know that but the second.....must be gaelic...if I´m not completely mistaken...

Well maybe there should be a "dictionary"

Oh and te fight between Umbra and Sudhendra ......how utterly beautifully described, not to mention the part when she honours the orc after his death, that was wonderful and very touching, just the thing a woman like her really would do.

If I was in Vvardenfell I would certainly like to meet Sudhendra! :kiss:

so yet another good reason why we should have multiplayer in TES

but yes another great addition override. really loved it

[OverrideB1]

aer amo calx is Latin and literally means "Air Like Ground" which I thought was a pretty apt description of what actually happens during levitation.

Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata is Gaelic, or Cymru (Welsh) to be pedantically accurate. It's pronounced "Brith-WITCH Hiss-brid ALWAH char ATHA" and simply means 'Demon of the Storm, attend me now'. I wanted spells Sudhendra picked up from non-Mage Guild sources to be totally different to the latinate Imperial spells. Since I have no idea what Dunmeris sounds like....

[minque]

aer amo calx is Latin and literally means \"Air Like Ground\" which I thought was a pretty apt description of what actually happens during levitation.

Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata is Gaelic, or Cymru (Welsh) to be pedantically accurate. It's pronounced \"Brith-WITCH Hiss-brid ALWAH char ATHA\" and simply means 'Demon of the Storm, attend me now'. I wanted spells Sudhendra picked up from non-Mage Guild sources to be totally different to the latinate Imperial spells. Since I have no idea what Dunmeris sounds like....

It´s wonderful.....can I use it in my sig? that welsh one I mean......And it´s very likely the Dunmers spoke welsh......like the nords speak scottish....

[treydog]

You handled the scene with Umbra so well- a violent fight to the death, and yet the ending the he had wished for- to die in battle. And the honor Sudhendra shows him is a reflection of her own honor and heart. Scenes like that are why I read fiction. And why I will continue to read Sudhendra for so long as you grace us with her presence.

[OverrideB1]

The morning was bright and beautiful, and I regretted that I had to leave the stark beauty of West Gash for the dusty streets of Ald’ruhn. Still, I had a task to undertake and sooner started, sooner finished as they say. The manor houses of the authorities were built “Under Skar”, so that is where I headed. Under Skar is an amazing structure ~ as unique in it’s way as any Tel of the Telvanni Mage-Lords. At some point, vast oceans must have covered Vvardenfell for here, atop the stairs that led to the plaza, stood the fossilised shell of a crab. And not just any crab, for this one was hundreds of paces in circumference and towered high above as you approached. Part of the shell was buried under the weight of solidified lava; yet bore the weight with ease.

Inside, just enough light filtered through the shell to give the interior a pleasant glow. Huge suspended walkways arched across the vast openness of the carapace’s interior vault and, set into the walls of the shell at various points were beautifully crafted wooden doors. The manors were all arrayed around the upper part of the shell while, down below, several banners hung limply to indicate the various tradesmen that had established themselves here. A guard impatiently directed me to the abode of Athyn Sarethi.

I wandered through opulent hallways and large rooms crammed with exquisitely carved furniture until I arrived at the private quarters of the Mer I sought. For a warrior clan, they certainly did like their creature comforts ~ no noble’s house I’d seen had ever been this well appointed. I introduced myself to Athyn Sarethi and spoke of my reasons for being there ~ the interview did not go well.

“An interesting point Telvanni,” he commented when I’d finished. “But I fail to see why you have come to me, thinking I would be of assistance.”

“Master Aryon said that you and he have had dealings in the past,” I said quickly as he started to turn dismissively. “He said you were an honest and fair-minded Mer.”

“Aryon?” There was a moment when I thought he was going to say more, and then he turned and addressed me directly. “So you’re Aryon’s latest protégée are you? Hmm, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to help in this matter.

“My advice to you is twofold. You are more likely to win agreement from the councillors if you make an appeal to their sense of fairness than by any other method. That’s my first piece of advice. The second is, do not try to enlist Bolvyn Venim: he his a gifted leader but not one known for his sense of fair-play or cooperation with the other Great Houses.”

“And your support for this proposal?” I asked.

He glared at me, speaking with an icy calmness, “My support for the proposal is a given young lady. Where it otherwise, I would not have given you any assistance in this matter.”

As I walked away, I distinctly heard him mutter “Telvanni impudence, it’ll be the ruination of them all”. I suspect that I was intended to overhear the comment but, other than straightening my back, I gave no sign that I’d heard anything.

For the next few hours, I wandered through the halls and chambers of Redoran territory, each door or turn of the corridor opening up onto new vistas of opulence. Often I got lost in the labyrinthine tunnels that extended behind the simple doors that led into the luxurious residences of these Warrior-Councillors but, by dint of accosting people in the corridor and asking for directions, I soon reached my targets. Sarethi’s advice proved to be extremely useful and not one of the councillors I approached failed to agree to our proposal. Although I was required to only get three statements of approval, I visited all of the Redoran councillors in turn ~ just in case one should change his or her mind at a later date.

With five potential consenting votes, I stepped out of the shell and spoke the words that would recall me to Master Aryon’s chambers. He was delighted at my success, rewarding me with an embroidered glove. This may seem somewhat of a poor offering for my work but rest assured, it was not. For, woven into the fabric of the glove was a powerful enchantment that could control the minds of Men and Mer.

“While you were gone,” Master Aryon said, “I received a message from Shishi. Ironically, given your last assignment, it seems that Great House Redoran has taken a dislike to Faves Andas’ close proximity to what they consider their territory. I need you to go to Shishi and sort out the problem.” He showed me the location of the Velothi tower on my map. “North of Ald’ruhn is the Redoran town of Maar Gan, nearby runs the Foyada Bani-Dad. Shishi is about halfway along the Foyada.”

As I rode the silt-strider from Ald’ruhn to Maar Gan, I smiled to myself. Given that Shishi would be, at most, an hour’s walk from the small religious site, it was no wonder that Great House Redoran was disturbed that it was Telvanni property. Careful study of my map showed me what Master Aryon had neglected to mention ~ Odirniran, with it’s control of the ocean approaches to the south and Shishi, which dominated the only easy route north from more Imperial controlled territory. And Tel Vos itself, with its commanding views of the northern ocean approaches to Telvanni territory. Each of the sites of the strongholds had been carefully chosen for their strategic advantage ~ one of the advantages when you have several lifetimes to consider how to deploy your forces is that your forces are deployed to your benefit.

Maar Gan was small, squalid, and dusty. Like some timid creature in its hole, it nestled between massive rocky crags ~ baking slowly in the heat of the midday sun. The one Tradehouse was as slow and sleepy as the rest of the village but it did afford me the opportunity to purchase a bandana to go across my mouth and several skins of water. The water I’d probably not need but I’d seen several people in Ald’ruhn with cloth across their mouth ~ walking through the dusty streets of Maar Gan made me appreciate what a fine idea the style was. It might not look too stylish, but at least I wouldn’t be spitting out dust for a week. I also purchased a well-polished silver dagger.

My journey along the Foyada Bani-Dad wasn’t particularly onerous, apart from the persistent attentions of a number of Cliff-Racers. I did have one moment where I had some fun. A pair of Dunmer, probably bandits or Ashlanders, took exception to me walking through their camp and chased me for a mile or so before loosing interest. Of course, my idea of fun isn’t to be perused by a pair of cursing bandits but, in this desolate wilderness, you take what you can find. All of the running did have its advantages; it left the pair floundering at the attentions of those bedamned Cliff-Racers that had, up until then, been chasing me. It also had the advantage of bringing me to Shishi that much sooner.

Mindful of my last exercise in infiltration, I approached Shishi with a great deal more caution than I’d shown at Odirniran. I had with me some of the grease I’d gathered in Nchuleft, and I used this to lubricate the door to the tower before opening it just wide enough for me to slide inside. The foyer was similar to the one in Odirniran, a large empty space with a single door leading deeper into the stronghold. Once more I greased the hinges and opened the door carefully. Squatting down, I drew the dagger I’d purchased in Maar Gan and held it out through the gap. By angling the blade, I was able to gain a relatively clear view of the corridor ~ clear enough to see a pair of feet sticking around the corner.

The owner of those feet wasn’t about to come walking around the corner any time soon though, nor walk anywhere again for that matter. They belonged to a young and very dead Dunmeri woman. The deep cuts and congealed blood around her told their own story. Nor was she the last servant I found in such a state.

It was with steadily mounting fury that I stalked the corridors of Shishi. Gore splattered beds in one chamber bore witness to the massacre there, a trail of blood told its own sorry tale elsewhere. Death: the wanton and mindless killing of innocent and defenceless servants greeted me at every turn. As I surveyed one particularly bloody scene, I smiled. I very much wanted to meet those responsible for this, and I wanted to look them in the eye as their souls went screaming into the void.

The woman, clad in steel armour barely knew what hit her. The Atronach, formed from the very stones of the building, tore into her ~ driven by the incandescent rage I felt. Huge fists crumpled steel like parchment as wreaths of lightning danced around the bloodied figure. Leaving her to whatever tender mercies an Atronach might show, I pressed deeper into the building.

“We’ve searched every inch of the building,” I heard a voice complain from the upper area of the dome. “Every room, every corridor. I tell you, he isn’t here.”

“He must be,” a second voice commented. “A Telvanni necromancer would never leave his tower.”

“And where’s Anise?” the first voice said. “She needs to get this report over to Venim so he can send reinforcements. There’s no way the three of us can hold this place if that necromancer’s still here.”

During this exchange, I’d been moving as stealthily as I could up the stairs. I knew that the stairwell would be visible to anyone who chanced to look over the low railing, but I was counting on that. There was a sudden stillness at the top of the stairs and the faintest hint of an indrawn breath. Then the second voice said, “if I were you, I’d ransack those shelves over there, see if you can find any clues as to where that Telvanni might be hiding.”

[Alexander]

another great part, I also wonder how she will discover the secret switch and such. will be interesting

[minque]

All these Telvanni-quests are completely new to me..and ever so intriguing....the best is to read both this one and Alex´s story..then you might just about cover it all

great..great..great..GREAT!!

[OverrideB1]

“Right-ho,” said the first voice with an inane cheerfulness. There followed the most blatantly false attempt to make the sound of footsteps heading away I’ve ever heard. With a clatter and a clash, two heavily armed warriors darted into view at the top of the stairs. “HA! We have you now… wait, you’re not Faves Andas!”

“Lawks, mercy me,” I said in a quavering voice. “I was looking for the master and thought he had guests.”

“Where is he?” demanded the shorter of the two soldiers.

“Why, right next to you,” I said, pointing at him with a gloved hand.

The taller Redoran sounded puzzled. “What are you talking about you…? Arggggh!”

The scream was probably because his compatriot was making a serious attempt to winkle him out of his armour with the point of his sword. “Bloody Telvanni, I’ll kill you,” he repeated over and over again as the sword in his hand hammered against the Bonemold armour. Bewildered by this turn of events, the Redoran soldier fumbled with his sword and took time in coming to grips with the fact his friend was making a serious attempt to kill him.

By the time he’d accepted the fact that short ‘n’ stupid wasn’t going to stop and he started to defend himself, it was already too late. The Bonemold had split in several places and freshets of blood trickled from many of the rents and gashes. An especially splendid backhand slash tore the pauldron from his shoulder and opened a short wound there. As he brought up his arm, the return blow sheered it off neatly just above the elbow. Blood gushed in a crimson tide as the sword clattered to the floor. “Bloody Hells…” the soldier moaned before pitching face down on the floor.

The taller soldier continued to hack and slash at the fallen body of his comrade, repeating his endless litany of imprecations. Suddenly he stopped, the sword falling from his hand. He tore off his helm and looked down at the wreck in front of him. “What have I done?” he quavered.

“Hey, soldier boy?” I said, stepping behind him. He spun around as best he could on his knees, looking up at me with a tear-stained face. “Vomica cruor” I added, slapping him across the cheek. He screamed as the fire took hold, threshing as the fluids in his body escalated towards boiling point. True to my promise to the shades of the murdered servants, I looked him directly in the eyes as he burned.

Which left me with the same problem they had faced: namely that I’d been through every chamber and corridor of the building and hadn’t found a hide nor hair of Faves Andas. Their idea had been a good one, perhaps searching this chamber would turn up some clue. All I found were some books on alchemy, some papers concerning the Empire and a few alchemical ingredients ~ which I’m sure Faves Andas would never miss. If I could find him, that is.

Why had the Redoran soldiers called him a necromancer?

That thought occurred to me as I sat on the bed and surveyed the room. I’d met necromancers ~ well, I’d met one necromancer and been in the hut of another. If Faves Andas dabbled in the Blackest Art, where were the soul-stones? Come to that, where were the books no necromancer would be without, and the paraphernalia? The only evidence I could see to support the Redoran charge of necromancy was a skull on a table. And that in itself was odd.

There was this large, well-made table with empty drawers (as my earlier search had proven) and nothing on the top except a single, solitary skull. Now intrigued, I reached out to pick it up, only to find that it was stuck to the table somehow. I twisted it, trying to unscrew it and was rewarded with the sound of stone scraping on stone from downstairs. When I cleared the last step, I saw that the raised platform that had extended from the wall had moved, revealing a small trapdoor set into the floor.

Laughing, I raised it up and yelled down into the darkness, “Faves Andas? I’m Sudhendra Vahl, Master Aryon sent me.”

“Well thank all the powers,” a voice said. There was a soft scraping sound and a light flared to reveal a lined and worried face. Applying the taper to the wick of a lantern, Faves Andas motioned for me to join him down in his panic-room. He babbled his thanks, pressing a couple of books into my hands and saying that he wished he had more to give me. Suddenly a look of horror crossed his face.

“My servants?” he gasped. “Did any of them survive?” He seemed genuinely heart-broken when I said that they had not. Leaving him to his grief, I returned to Balmora. Someday, I would exact revenge on House Redoran for their deeds at Shishi.

[General Edor Crespin]

Wow, you're just blazing away.

[treydog]

Well-written, as always. I really enjoy the way we get to see Sudhendra's character and personality shaped by events and encounters.

[OverrideB1]

Feeling somewhat less morose than I had yestere, I cast a Recall spell to Master Aryon’s chambers, where I found him in an expansive mood.

“You’ve done exceedingly well Muthsera Vahl,” he said. “Faves Andas was most pleased most pleased indeed. Although you’ve only been my Mouth a short while, I’m afraid I’m going to have to find someone to replace you.”

He realised what I thought he meant as I stood there spluttering, trying to form a coherent response. “No, no. You misunderstand. I need to find a new Mouth because I am promoting you. Henceforth, you are Spellwright of Great House Telvanni, with all the responsibilities and duties thereof. In addition, Faves Andas has sent this rather fine Staff of War to mark his appreciation for your sterling efforts in rescuing him.

“As a Master, and your patron, I can still give you some orders ~ you, of course, are free to disregard them and follow your own path. I can also give you advice and suggestions on how to proceed. This is important since, as you are now of quite high rank, some of those beneath you will consider you… fair game. If you understand what I mean?”

Oh, I understood all right. It’s a fact that’s known by inference, rather than direct discussion, that lower-ranking Telvanni can move up the promotion ladder by arranging a suitable ‘accident’ for those of middle-rank. And the definition of ‘accident’ is fairly lax ~ failing to wake up one morning because there’s a dagger sticking out of your back was, by Telvanni code, an ‘unfortunate accident’.

“There is also a matter we must discuss,” he added. “It needs saying, although it shouldn’t, that what we’re about to discuss is not to be discussed with those of lesser rank than Spellwright and must not be discussed with anyone outside the House. Ever.”

For the next hour, Master Aryon led me through the complex procedures that ensure continued life for Telvanni, explaining how he had lived for seven hundred years beyond the normal span of a Dunmeri lifetime. All I will say on the matter is that, despite my fears, the process did not involve that Blackest Art. No, I’m sorry, that’s all I will say on the matter, other than to say that the Imperial claims that we use necromancy to prolong our life are calumny of the first order.

When we’d finished, he gave me the bad news. “I have no further tasks for you at the moment Muthsera Vahl. My recommendation is that you train those skills you have and make yourself less of a target. If, when you’ve got bored with that, I still have no tasks for you, I will give some thought to how you might improve your standing within the House.”

I was at something of a loss as I walked out of Master Aryon’s chambers. Despite my continued assertions that ‘I was the captain of my own destiny’, this was the first time since I’d landed on this island that I really had nothing to do. ‘Take this there’, ‘Get me this’, and “I have a little job for you’ had become such a part of my life in the last month that I hadn’t noticed how reliant on others for direction I’d become. Until now, that is.

So, it was with a sense of relief that, upon seeing Turedus Talanian, I remembered his little fact-finding mission to the Zainab. It was early enough in the day that the relatively short journey wouldn’t be too onerous and I’d relish the chance to meet more of these Ashlanders. The fact that it would be a pleasant walk through the Grazelands didn’t hurt either.

As it turned out, I didn’t get very far along the road south before whatever twisted power that plays dice with my fate intervened yet again. I was walking along between two high grassy banks in a vaguely southerly direction when I saw the words “HELP ME” chalked onto a rock. Next to them was an arrow, pointing towards a faint plume of smoke. As I got nearer, I could see a robed Man kneeling beside some sort of pack animal.

“Isin yabancis,” the Redguard said, straightening up and turning as I approached, “may I prevail upon you for some assistance? My pack-Guar has some disease and I am without a cure. A thousand pardons for thus intruding Muthsera, but any assistance would be greatly appreciated.”

I crouched beside the Guar and looked at it. I’d seen wild ones before, at a distance, but I hadn’t been aware that they could be domesticated in this manner. What a wonderful idea on an island where horses were more a delicacy than a mode of transport. The creature was an odd colour, a sort of greyish tinge to the normally pink scales and it’s breathing sounded terribly laboured.

“I don’t think I can help,” I said as I stood. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with it. I have a spell, and some potions to cure Blight but I’d hate to give your Guar the wrong thing.” He looked crestfallen, and that’s when I had an idea. “But, I’ll tell you what. I can get to Tel Vos and back here very, very quickly. I’ll go and speak with Andil, the Apothecary. If I describe the symptoms, he might be able to sell me a cure.”

“Teneo is locus” I said, placing a Mark where I stood. Having done that, I translocated back to Tel Vos and went into the Service tower to speak to the apothecary.

“Droops,” Andil said authoritatively when I’d finished describing the symptoms. “A standard cure disease potion will fix Hodrim’s Guar. Do you need a potion, or do you have enough to spare one?” Assuring the merchant that I had enough potions, I cast Recall and returned to the Redguard’s camp.

“Thank you, thank you,” Hodrim said, clasping my hand and bowing over it when I’d cured his beast. “I am but a poor trader, and have no suitable reward for you. However, I am going to meet the Zainab and, when I return to Tel Vos, I will have many items. Of these, you may take whatever you fancy.”

We walked a little way together, speaking of nothing in particular. Hodrim, it turned out, does a brisk trade between the Ahemmusa camp in the north, Tel Vos, and the Zainab camp in the south and is, quite possibly, the only merchant trading in Ashlander goods on the whole island. We’d not gone far, however, when the slow pace ~ enforced by his slowly recovering beast of burden ~ began to chaff. Bidding him farewell, I set off at a much brisker pace, soon leaving the trader behind. And so it was that I crested the hills and saw below me the Zainab camp.

Like the Ahemmusa camp, it was a rough circle of yurts around a large central fire pit. However, it had more of an air of permanence about it than the more northerly camp. One thing didn’t change though: the icy distain that Ashlanders show for outsiders. I was as polite and careful as I could be, greeting each of the nomadic warriors that had gathered around me politely. Pretty soon, however, they lost interest and started to drift away.

“Excuse my impertinence at asking you a question Muthsera,” I said to one burly Ashlander. “I’m here on behalf of the Mage-Lord in Vos.” The Ashlander stopped and turned to face me. A slight inclination of the head seemed to be all the signal I was going to get, so I carried on. “He wishes to know what goods might be acceptable in trade.”

“Hmpf,” the Ashlander said coldly. “Look about you Outlander. What need have we of the great buildings or soft furnishings of the settled people? Such foods as the Tribe needs can be gathered from nearby by the most inexperienced warrior, and we have no interest in the bangles, beads and baubles most attempt to trade with us.”

With that, he turned and strode away. Because I was still wary of these proud people, I’d been paying attention to the goings on around me and had spotted a gorgeously dressed young woman shaking her head as the warrior spoke. “Excuse me,” I said softly as I gingerly approached her, “but is there something that we could trade with you?”

She thought for a moment, and then said, “The settled peoples have a way of bottling magic ~ this I have seen. Often, when our husb… warriors are out gathering food they become diseased. Sometimes they are too far away to get back and seek healing from the Wise Woman in time. We have little to trade Outlander but, if trade you would, those bottled magics would be most welcome.”

I felt a wave of sympathy for the woman as she walked away; obviously it had been her husband that had died because of some disease that a potion could have cured. Simultaneously I felt a sense of elation: simple cure disease and even cure Blight potions could be produced with ease ~ although, looking around the camp, I could see little that would be worth trading for. I resolved to ask Turedus what the Ashlanders could possibly have that Master Aryon wanted to trade for.

My second meeting with Ashlanders had gone well and the day was still quite young, although I felt a pressing need for the midday meal. Guessing that giving food, or trading food, to strangers was a distinct improbability, and that sitting down to eat in the middle of the camp would be somewhat rude (and probably invite some fairly unpleasant reminder of that), I moved away from the camp to a small hill to the east. There, under the shade of a broad tree, I ate a simple meal and savoured the fresh breeze coming across the gently rippling grass.

I made certain to keep my eyes east or north as I ate, the marked contrast to the west would have spoiled my appetite somewhat. Not far west from where I sat, the grass started to grow in clumps and the trees looked unhealthy. There was a sharp dip just beyond this barren patch ~ presumably down to one of the many paths that criss-cross the Grazelands. When the ground rose again, it was devoid of grass or plant life, bare and sere as it covered the short distance to where the mountains rose from the plains.

I have no idea, even to this day, what prompted me to head west towards the mountains instead of north towards Tel Vos. As I approached a gully that led into the highlands, I saw another of those mining claims ~ this one being worked by an Argonian. Since I had no idea (at the time) that such places were freely available for anyone to mine ore, I gave the industrious lizard a wide berth. I hadn’t gone too much further when I came to someplace called ‘The Ridak Mine’.

On a whim, I stepped inside and started to explore.

[minque]

Ah yes now she´s on her own..little Sudhendra....exciting to hear about how she´s gonna handle that. Great start of the new life anyway......dealing with ashlanders always thrills me a lot.....

[OverrideB1]

“Master,” a soft voice called. “Master, why do you continue to torment me? Wasn’t killing you once enough?” An oddly garbed figure dropped from a ledge in the cavern. He seemed to be wearing some sort of shell on his torso ~ not that I was paying too much attention right then since I was desperately trying to avoid being hit by the big hammer he was wielding.

“Wait!” I said, back-pedalling frantically. “I’m not your master…”

You know that there are those moments when you just instinctively say exactly the wrong thing? This, it seemed, was one of them. The veins stood out on his neck as he roared, “YOU WERE NEVER MY MASTER. I WAS ALWAYS BETTER THAN YOU LHEROS!”

My desperate attempt to soft-talk my way out of the problem had backfired badly and the already demented individual in front of me had now worked himself up into a killing frenzy. Fortunately, a massive hammer isn’t a subtle weapon and, as hammers went, this was humongous. As it crashed into the floor with a resounding thud, I was already two paces away and raising my hands. Little did I know that my day was about to get even worse.

“Exuro meus Hostilis” I said, finalising the structure of the spell in my mind. From my cupped hands a swirling sphere of fire hurled itself towards the Man. As the fire wrapped itself around him, I felt a sudden and unpleasant warmth. I screamed and threw myself on the floor ~ miraculously avoiding a swing that would have pulped my head had it connected ~ and rolled frantically to extinguish the flames that burned on my robe. “Son of a Guar,” I thought, scrabbling to avoid another killing blow and drag out my sword at the same time, “reflection!”

For any magic-user there are two great banes in this world: one being the spell ‘Silence’ and the other being the ability, either innate or induced via magical means, to reflect magic back at the caster. It was just my luck that this raving and homicidal maniac had access to that ability. Since any form of offensive magic was now out of the question, I’d have to rely on fleetness of foot and my skill with a blade. Stendarr protect me, I was in real trouble here.

I scooted under another wild swing, slashing out with my blade as I did so. The lunatic roared again, partially in anger and partially in pain. To my delight, I saw a deep groove had been scored in the pale pink cuirass he wore. Then I yelped in pain ~ my fleetness of foot was going to be hampered by the surely broken toes I’d just received. Hobbling slightly, I avoided another wild blow, stabbing the blade inward and twisting it viciously as it penetrated the armour. He moaned in pain as the blood began to trickle from the wound I’d given him.

There is little to tell of the rest of the fight: it mostly consisted of me keeping the Oblivion out of his way while he slowly bled to death. Of course, I wasn’t averse to adding a few other wounds to the one he already had whenever I got an opening. I couldn’t say how long it was since we’d started to dance, but he suddenly went pale (okay, he was a Man so he went paler) and dropped the hammer. He stood there swaying and swearing softly before collapsing in a heap on the floor. I had two orders of priority. The first was to ensure that this maniac was dead. And the second? To do something about the pain in my foot.

For the first time since entering this cave, I got a chance to look around. There were several dark boulders sticking out of the lighter stone of the cave wall ~ they looked grooved and chipped, as though someone had worked on them with a tool. Up on the ledge was a crude camp, little more than a bedroll and a cooking fire. There was a pot bubbling on the fire and a truly offensive stench was coming from it. Tucked under the pillow of the bedroll was a journal.

The journal of Darinis Parr made for very depressing reading. Early entries spoke of his work with a smith named Lheros and spoke in glowing terms of his (Parr’s) master. However, as the entries continued, there was a deep under-current of malice and jealousy revealed by Parr’s notes. Although he didn’t write it plainly, the last few of the saner entries intimated that he’d killed this Lheros in a fit of jealous rage. I say ‘saner’ because there was no reason at all behind the later entries ~ long rambling discourses on how Parr was the better smith. The last couple of entries were deeply disturbing ~ let’s just say that I wasn’t too surprised at the contents of his cooking pot. Sickened certainly, but not surprised.

The strange shell-like armour Parr wore was wrecked beyond any skill of mine to repair and, I suspected that having it repaired would cost more than it was worth. Around the Man’s neck were hung two rings of exquisite manufacture. And they were deeply magical, although they sang with a note and tone that I’ve never heard before. Being the inquisitive sort, I couldn’t resist trying them on. The smaller and less ornate ring produced a strange tingling sensation in my hands and an odd urge to hold a hammer ~ other than that, it seemed to have no effect on me. Not so the larger ring with the jet-black stone set in it.

My vision blurred alarmingly as I set the ring upon my finger. I was about to tear it off when my gaze happened upon one of those boulders. Instantly I was aware of the rich vein of iron ore running through the rock. Moreover, I could see faint stress-lines in the rock and knew, somehow, that striking the rock there would be the best way to get at the metal within. The other boulders revealed similar faults and valuable ore ~ and one of them had strange crystalline structures in it. It took me a while to realise that I was seeing raw and uncut diamonds.

Lheros? Weren’t the people who ran the public forges known as ‘The Pupils of Lheros’? It was too much to expect this to be a coincidence. Since the only forge with a vendor that I knew of existed in Balmora, I stepped out of the mine and, after placing a Mark at the entrance, I mentally constructed the shape of the translocation spell for the town.

“You?” Daniela Styles said incredulously. “You found Darinis Parr’s hideout and have killed him? Do you have any idea how long we’ve been searching for the wretch?”

Her reluctance to believe me was quickly washed away when I showed her the two rings I’d taken. Visibly shaken, she said, “I’m impressed stranger, Darinis Parr is… was a very dangerous man. You’ve performed a great service for us. Please, accept this gift of two and a half thousand Drakes as a reward. And, if there’s any information you require, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

There was a great deal of information I required, and we spent a while in discourse. I walked away from the encounter knowing that the mining claims can be mined by anyone; that Lheros had written a number of books on the manufacture of armour; and that Lheros’ tomb was near Ald’ruhn and that nobody who went there had ever returned. I also took away a mining axe.

Which is why, a short time later, I was hammering the axe into the boulders inside the mine, giggling like a lunatic as I extracted large quantities of almost pure iron ore from them. When I’d gathered as much as I could carry, I returned to Balmora. There, under the careful tutelage of Daniela Styles, and aided enormously by the other ring, I melted and hammered the ore into several long ingots. Without the books, I had no means of producing anything else other than ingots ~ although Daniela did give me fifty Septims for them.

Well pleased with myself, I returned to Dura gra-Bol’s house and rested up for the night.

[jonajosa]

I liked it. Great detail with the fights. I would love to read more.

[Alexander]

this is great I also like that option that let's you detect certain minerals in rocks. reminds me of a power of the Ais seday (sp) in the books of Robert Jordan

[minque]

Ok...phew....she managed...of course the little sweetie...
Hmm I have a lot to learn here i can tell, how to describe fights for instance...will come in handy when I´m about to do that....

my my.....what will our telvanni-lady be up to next??

[OverrideB1]

Whatever training I’d been doing yestere seemed to have paid dividends: when I awoke this morning, I felt fitter and stronger than I had. I’d experienced this odd sensation before, a feeling that there was suddenly more to you than there had been ~ almost as though you’d clambered to another level of skill. Previously I’d written it off to potions I’d taken, or things I’d been exposed to. However, yestere I hadn’t taken any potions and, unless the former home of Dura gra-Bol had some mystic property I was unaware of, I hadn’t been exposed to anything unusual. Whatever the cause, I decided I rather liked the feeling. So it was with a smile on my face that I translocated to Tel Vos and made my way up to Master Aryon’s chambers. Where he soon managed to wipe it off.

“I have no tasks for you to undertake Muthsera Vahl,” he said. “I can make a suggestion, however. It depends on how ambitious you are. You see if you wish to advance in the House, you need to make the other Councillors aware of you. Their favour can make or break you, as many an ambitious young Telvanni has discovered to their cost.

“I can’t compel you, of course,” he continued. “However, performing a few small tasks here and there for the other Councillors would stand you in good stead. The only other piece of advice I’d give you would be to avoid Arch-Magister Gothren.”

“And why would that be, Serjo Aryon?” I quizzed.

“Let us just say that he tends to take a dim view of ambitious young Telvanni,” Aryon said wryly. “The tasks he gives them tend to be a little fatal. Master Baladas you know, and should take as much advantage of any friendship that there is there. You should be safe enough with Mistress Dratha; be wary of old Neloth, he’s a skinflint and deep in Gothren’s pocket. Visiting Fyr would be pointless, as you know; he takes no interest in the workings of the House at all.

“Finally,” he said, having marked the Tels of the councillors on my map, “we come to Mistress Therana. The years have not been kind to her, and it is feared that she may have fallen back on less savoury methods of extending her life. Back to the very old ways, you might say.”

“I have some… experience with Therana,” I said carefully, aware of what he was hinting at.

He nodded, “Then you are aware that asking her for anything is fraught with danger. Still, she was always generous and enough of her mind may remain…”

I thanked Master Aryon for his advice and made my way out of his chambers. There was a tuneless humming coming from downstairs and I grinned as I went to meet Turedus.

“I’ve spoken to the Zainab,” I said, by way of an introduction. “And I know what they’ll accept in trade.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” the massive armoured Man said.

“Potions,” I revealed. “Their hunters are often too far from camp to make it back in time to be cured.”

“Well I’ll be a Khajiit’s uncle,” Turedus said with a wide grin. “I’d never have thought of that. His Nibs, erm, Master Aryon will be extremely pleased with that news. Here, have these small tokens of my gratitude.” The ‘small tokens’ turned out to be a purse containing a hundred Septims and an amulet ensorcelled with a cantrip of levitation. While the former was welcome, the latter was of inestimable value to me ~ now I wouldn’t have to keep buying those foul tasting potions or expending magicka to reach the top of Telvanni towers.

I should point out that, if you haven’t already guessed, curiosity is a major failing of mine. It was curiosity that led me to Great House Telvanni in the first place, and it was that same curiosity that prompted me to explore Tel Vos. And what profitable exploration it was too.

Inside the well-guarded tower that seemed to serve as a jail, at least if the barred heavy doors were any indication, I found a hidden doorway. I was really just on my way down from the top of the tower to the level where a walkway led to another part of the fort. As I went around a corner, I felt a slight puff of wind on my face. I backtracked immediately and examined the wall carefully ~ by passing my hand back and forth across the stones I found that what appeared to be just another piece of wall was a hidden doorway. Making sure I was unobserved ~ I was a welcome guest at Tel Vos and I didn’t wish to jeopardise that by being seen poking into places I shouldn’t ~ I gently pushed the wall. I was surprised, to say the least when a section of the wall swung back soundlessly to reveal a hidden void.

Quickly, I batted aside the cobwebs that hung from the ceiling and examined the small space. It had obviously been here since the Empire had built the fort. The branch that had torn aside a chunk of masonry explained the breeze. Apart from a couple of quite high quality potions, there was nothing of interest, but it did get me thinking.

I don’t know what Master Aryon’s guards thought of my behaviour over the next few hours. I poked my nose into every nook and cranny of the Tel in my search for any other hidden areas. Oftimes I’d be discovered by a guard, tapping a blank section of wall. With a bright smile, I blandly assured them that Master Aryon had assigned me the task of checking for structural weaknesses. I assume that they accepted this explanation ~ either they didn’t report my strange behaviour to Master Aryon or, if they did, he never saw fit to mention it.

I picked up a well made but rusty bow and a couple of dozen steel arrows in one part of the stronghold, and a fortune in gemstones in another. I felt sure that Aryon wouldn’t mind me taking the things I found. After all, if he was foolish enough to leave them unremarked and unguarded, I deserved them more than he did. My greatest find, however, came with the discovery of a second concealed portal in the north-eastern tower.

Inside the hidden chamber was a small trapdoor that led down to another, larger concealed chamber. Here prowled another of those oddly deformed creatures ~ one that I later discovered was called a Dremora Lord. The instant it spotted me it summoned its preferred weapon and had at me. I must admit that I nearly lost the fight since I was working very hard to stifle a bad attack of the giggles.

I see you smile, imagining the fell-handed Sudhendra Vahl giggling whilst in battle. Warriors are not born, but are tempered through experience ~ should they survive long enough. As to the reason for my inappropriate display of mirth, that’s told simply enough. Imagine if you will, a chamber barely wide enough for me to lay down in. Now imagine a Dremora Lord wielding a staff taller than either of us.

When the essence of my foe had been sent wailing back to whichever corner of Oblivion he’d come from, I examined the remainder of the room. The first item I discovered was a shield, heavy as sin and made from the same dark material as my erstwhile foe’s armour. It was made to resemble a leering face and, despite the great bulk of it, I claimed it as my own. The other item I found was a crescent-shaped axe of Dwemeri design. I held the grip and listened to its song as I slashed it experimentally through the air. Despite the antiquity of the weapon, it still held a wickedly sharp edge. Smaller, but heavier, than the axe I habitually carried, it would make a fair replacement as it could be wielded in tighter confines.

I was surprised at how much time had passed when I stepped from the tower. Night’s purple shadows were already gathering in the corners as the sun sank low in the west. With a shrug, I translocated to Balmora for some, in my opinion, well-deserved rest.

[minque]

[quote]Oftimes I’d be discovered by a guard, tapping a blank section of wall. With a bright smile, I blandly assured them that Master Aryon had assigned me the task of checking for structural weaknesses. I assume that they accepted this explanation ~ either they didn’t report my strange behaviour to Master Aryon or, if they did, he never saw fit to mention it. [/quote]


what a shrewd lady.........I really enjoyed this part!