Forward by Enric Pelitius, University of Gwylim Press
17 Last Seed, 3E 432
Now in its 2nd edition, The Telvanni Affair, as it has come to be called, is a collection of journal entries and draft reports purportedly discovered 3E 429 by the cleaning lady at a tavern in the Imperial settlement of Ebonheart, in Vvardenfell District, Morrowind. The chronicle, as it were, purports to describe some events occurring in Morrowind, the Telvanni Isles in particular, during 3E 419.
Perhaps a brief history of this work is in order. While most scholars, including this writer, believe this work to be a poor fiction, the 1st edition published 3E 430 set off a minor firestorm in Morrowind. Suggestions that Archmagister Rilvin Dral’s assassination may have been the work of a Blades operative caused quite a scandal, particularly when the Imperial Council would not confirm or deny involvement. This, in spite of the fact that no authenticated record exists of any individual by the name of Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun living in either mainland Morrowind or Vvardenfell at the time of the assassination, or when the manuscript was discovered.
It is interesting to note that one patron of the Ebonheart tavern, Six Fishes, did claim to have seen the writer/anti-hero of The Telvanni Affair. Unfortunately, this witness was found dead in the streets of Ebonheart, perforated by poisoned bolts, before Imperial scholars had opportunity for a decent interview. Perhaps, then, some mysteries are best left unexplored.
Full Version: The Telvanni Affair
Yes! This looks very promising indeed.....nice approach, I like it!
Spymaster,
As instructed, I have set up a base in the port of Ebonheart. Last night I arranged to rent a room out of the local tavern—regrettably, the funds we have been provided by the Empire are insufficient to purchase or even rent a house here; the cost of living in a busy imperial port city is too high. My risk of observation, then, is somewhat elevated. Still, I believe that my lodgings will be sufficient. My location permits me quick access to ship transport and armor repair, while the Imperial Cult chapel provides what alchemical supplies I cannot get on my own.
I am slightly concerned about the presence of the Argonian Mission here. In most ways it is pleasant to see my countrymen, but if I am recognized there is a small chance that the Shadowscales may be informed of my whereabouts. They might possibly seek retribution. Still, I want to emphasize that this risk is slight.
I believe that no further preparations on my part should be necessary. I am mission-ready and awaiting further orders.
--A.H.L.i.t.S.
As instructed, I have set up a base in the port of Ebonheart. Last night I arranged to rent a room out of the local tavern—regrettably, the funds we have been provided by the Empire are insufficient to purchase or even rent a house here; the cost of living in a busy imperial port city is too high. My risk of observation, then, is somewhat elevated. Still, I believe that my lodgings will be sufficient. My location permits me quick access to ship transport and armor repair, while the Imperial Cult chapel provides what alchemical supplies I cannot get on my own.
I am slightly concerned about the presence of the Argonian Mission here. In most ways it is pleasant to see my countrymen, but if I am recognized there is a small chance that the Shadowscales may be informed of my whereabouts. They might possibly seek retribution. Still, I want to emphasize that this risk is slight.
I believe that no further preparations on my part should be necessary. I am mission-ready and awaiting further orders.
--A.H.L.i.t.S.
This is certainly a unique way of following this story, through letters and such. This should prove interesting.
QUOTE(The Metal Mallet @ Aug 19 2007, 12:23 AM) 
This is certainly a unique way of following this story, through letters and such. This should prove interesting.
Agreed. It's already got a slightly different flavour than most TES fanfics. My worry with this style of writing is that it can get gimmicky, but so far it's working well. And from what I've read before, your Argonian has quite a distinctive voice, so you'll no doubt avoid the pitfalls. Challenging task you've set yourself here, but one I'm looking forward to reading. Looking very good so far
Well, not everything is going to be letters to the Spymaster (wonder who that could be?). As the forward said, it's a collection of letters and journal entries, so there will be some more opportunity to flesh things out--like in this next update...
I met C. yesterday at the South Wall to get my orders. We talked a bit about the situation in Ebonheart—he said I was free to deal with anyone who might compromise my cover in “any way you see fit”. That suits me just fine.
By the time we started discussing my first mission I had already downed two bottles of Cyrodiilic brandy. It’s significantly less expensive here in Morrowind—I guess it’s difficult to import much of anything into Black Marsh, though. In any case, I was getting drunk and C. was high on his skooma. What an odd pair of Blades we must be.
Functional, though. The spymaster told me that the Council had some big job planned for me, and that before he sent me off on it I should become more familiar with the Telvanni. As he put it, “You need to know how they live, and how they fight, before I send you off to Port Telvannis. In some ways they’re similar to your beloved House Dres, but you’ll find the distinctions to be critical.”
He paused, perhaps thinking I’d have questions to ask. I didn’t. Nothing could be worse than the Dres.
Finally he got down to the details. “First, to see how they fight, I want you to wipe out a rogue Telvanni outpost. They’re no threat to the Empire, but they also won’t be missed. It’s a place called Shishara—a velothi-style dome in the Ashlands directly east of Caldera, and northeast of here. Nine-Toes found it on his most recent mapping expedition.” He handed me a map, folded into fourths.
“Report back here once you’re done.”
I decided to start from Caldera, if only because I hadn’t seen the town yet and was curious. I teleported in courtesy of the local Guild of Mages. It reminded me a bit of Gideon, except newer and smaller. The buildings are primarily constructed in the so-called “Imperial” style; lots of white and brown, right angles, and gray stone. Reman Cyrodiil must have been a profoundly unimaginative man.
I purchased another round of brandy at the local tavern and then marched east. Soon I came up against the mountain front, but it gave me little trouble, even in the early morning dark. Nor did the cliffracers—vile flying beasts—trouble me. My aim with the crossbow was true.
On the other side of the mountain ridge I found a cave—the rude carving over the door said “Shushishi”. I would have passed it by, but I remembered something else the spymaster had said: “If you come across any bandit caves, feel free to play adventurer for a little while. Nobody cares about the bandits, and they’re a good way to augment your income.” Carefully I stepped inside, my two blades drawn.
An orc guarded the door; he carried an axe at his side. He charged, muttering, with the opening of the door, but I side-stepped his wild swing and cut his throat open as his axe sparked against the stone. I took a few gold pieces off the body and began to creep along the rocky corridor. A female bosmer with a steel staff fell when I shot two bolts into her chest. The next to die, I caught asleep. He was resting on a wooden platform, above a slave enclosure, when I cut his throat. I considered setting him aflame, burning him alive, with one of his own torches—slave smugglers deserve as much—but I didn’t know how many were left in the cave. My instinct for vengeance, though strong, is weaker than my instinct for self-preservation. Instead, I quietly freed the two khajiits in the enclosure below and moved on, killing a redguard and a dunmer before I found the ringleader, himself a khajiit. How a khajiit could condone smuggling slaves is beyond me—some part of his soul must have been lost. I think, then, that I may have been doing him a favor when I ended his life with a pair of steel bolts.
A moment later I found the two argonian slaves, Meeh-Mei and Deesh-Meeus. They were from a neighboring clan, living close to Rockpoint. I gave them some money and outfitted them with the armor of those I had killed—I wanted to escort them further, but I had work to do. They understood, I think. By the time I managed to exit the cave—after rifling through the smugglers’ crates of loot—they were out of sight over the ridge. With luck they would make it home.
On to Shishara, then. I crossed the foyada—a long, narrow valley created by the lava flows of Red Mountain—and struggled to make my way over the next mountain ridge. Stymied by the steep slope, I cast a levitation spell. Atop the ridge, I took in the rising sun. It was a strangely beautiful scene, those Ashlands. This place is so very different from my homeland, but perhaps that is why I can call it lovely. Most of my life has been profoundly painful—my father’s exodus, the threat of the slavers, my failure with the Shadowscales, and Tear to top it all. Being in place so very different from Black Marsh might eventually prove therapeutic. I do not find gray volcanic hills and throngs of cliffracers foreboding.
The sun rose a little higher, and I saw it—the velothi tower of Shishara.
By the time we started discussing my first mission I had already downed two bottles of Cyrodiilic brandy. It’s significantly less expensive here in Morrowind—I guess it’s difficult to import much of anything into Black Marsh, though. In any case, I was getting drunk and C. was high on his skooma. What an odd pair of Blades we must be.
Functional, though. The spymaster told me that the Council had some big job planned for me, and that before he sent me off on it I should become more familiar with the Telvanni. As he put it, “You need to know how they live, and how they fight, before I send you off to Port Telvannis. In some ways they’re similar to your beloved House Dres, but you’ll find the distinctions to be critical.”
He paused, perhaps thinking I’d have questions to ask. I didn’t. Nothing could be worse than the Dres.
Finally he got down to the details. “First, to see how they fight, I want you to wipe out a rogue Telvanni outpost. They’re no threat to the Empire, but they also won’t be missed. It’s a place called Shishara—a velothi-style dome in the Ashlands directly east of Caldera, and northeast of here. Nine-Toes found it on his most recent mapping expedition.” He handed me a map, folded into fourths.
“Report back here once you’re done.”
I decided to start from Caldera, if only because I hadn’t seen the town yet and was curious. I teleported in courtesy of the local Guild of Mages. It reminded me a bit of Gideon, except newer and smaller. The buildings are primarily constructed in the so-called “Imperial” style; lots of white and brown, right angles, and gray stone. Reman Cyrodiil must have been a profoundly unimaginative man.
I purchased another round of brandy at the local tavern and then marched east. Soon I came up against the mountain front, but it gave me little trouble, even in the early morning dark. Nor did the cliffracers—vile flying beasts—trouble me. My aim with the crossbow was true.
On the other side of the mountain ridge I found a cave—the rude carving over the door said “Shushishi”. I would have passed it by, but I remembered something else the spymaster had said: “If you come across any bandit caves, feel free to play adventurer for a little while. Nobody cares about the bandits, and they’re a good way to augment your income.” Carefully I stepped inside, my two blades drawn.
An orc guarded the door; he carried an axe at his side. He charged, muttering, with the opening of the door, but I side-stepped his wild swing and cut his throat open as his axe sparked against the stone. I took a few gold pieces off the body and began to creep along the rocky corridor. A female bosmer with a steel staff fell when I shot two bolts into her chest. The next to die, I caught asleep. He was resting on a wooden platform, above a slave enclosure, when I cut his throat. I considered setting him aflame, burning him alive, with one of his own torches—slave smugglers deserve as much—but I didn’t know how many were left in the cave. My instinct for vengeance, though strong, is weaker than my instinct for self-preservation. Instead, I quietly freed the two khajiits in the enclosure below and moved on, killing a redguard and a dunmer before I found the ringleader, himself a khajiit. How a khajiit could condone smuggling slaves is beyond me—some part of his soul must have been lost. I think, then, that I may have been doing him a favor when I ended his life with a pair of steel bolts.
A moment later I found the two argonian slaves, Meeh-Mei and Deesh-Meeus. They were from a neighboring clan, living close to Rockpoint. I gave them some money and outfitted them with the armor of those I had killed—I wanted to escort them further, but I had work to do. They understood, I think. By the time I managed to exit the cave—after rifling through the smugglers’ crates of loot—they were out of sight over the ridge. With luck they would make it home.
On to Shishara, then. I crossed the foyada—a long, narrow valley created by the lava flows of Red Mountain—and struggled to make my way over the next mountain ridge. Stymied by the steep slope, I cast a levitation spell. Atop the ridge, I took in the rising sun. It was a strangely beautiful scene, those Ashlands. This place is so very different from my homeland, but perhaps that is why I can call it lovely. Most of my life has been profoundly painful—my father’s exodus, the threat of the slavers, my failure with the Shadowscales, and Tear to top it all. Being in place so very different from Black Marsh might eventually prove therapeutic. I do not find gray volcanic hills and throngs of cliffracers foreboding.
The sun rose a little higher, and I saw it—the velothi tower of Shishara.
Ahhh... so this is Al just starting out for the Blades in Morrowind eh? Doesn't have all his sweet gear and riches yet. Though he would have Kills-You-Dead, just not the Dwemer Crossbow. Should prove interesting to see how he evolves into what we now see in "Killing..."
Oh, he has the dwemer crossbow, and Kills-You-Dead, and that ebony shortsword of his. The crossbow he picked up in Tear (that little slaver resistance dream/memory interlude right before he went to Mournhold), Kills-You-Dead stolen from the Shadowscales, and the ebony taken off a dead Dres before he even did the Shadowscale thing. Yeah, that's a lot of back story to keep track of...
But this is just when he's starting out with the Blades, yes. It's set in 3E 419, whereas the Morrowind storyline starts in 3E 427.
But this is just when he's starting out with the Blades, yes. It's set in 3E 419, whereas the Morrowind storyline starts in 3E 427.
It was a slaughter.
C. asked me to describe what happened at Shishara, and that’s what I said. Then I elaborated.
“There was a breton woman in the entryway, maybe standing watch. She had red hair. Anyway, she wasn’t looking when I entered the door, so I stalked up behind her and slashed off her head with Kills-You-Dead”—my daedric dagger. “I searched the body; she wasn’t even armed. I don’t know why they’d post an unarmed woman on watch… in any case, I continued inside. Down a ramp to the right I found a bosmer—I got him by surprise too, with Kills-You-Dead. He carried a steel dagger, but he was unarmored so killing him was easy. Inside a room down there was an archer, another bosmer. I shot a bolt into her, then she tried to draw her long bow when she should have dove for cover. Another shot killed her. I searched the room some; there was nothing particularly valuable. Back the other way I eventually ran into the main living space, I guess. I took out another breton woman with a couple bolts, then did the same to another bosmer girl. Neither of them were armed. Up a set a stairs I found the leader, the wizard. I had put a couple bolts in him before he even started trying to cast this big fireball at me. The third bolt put a stop to any of that. He had a staff, and a bunch of books up in that room of his.”
“I’d have been taking more of a risk against scribs, sir.”
C. just sat there for a moment, considering my words. I downed half a bottle of brandy before he spoke.
“I didn’t expect it would be much of a test for you. That will change.”
“You mean some Telvanni can actually fight?”
“From what I’ve heard, Al, rogue Telvanni are rogues because they’re not strong enough to seize territory away from the others. We’ll get into Telvanni culture more. First, you said something about a bandit cave. Tell me about it.”
“Shushishi. Just over the mountains directly east of Caldera. I killed six bandits and freed four slaves. I confiscated two bottles of brandy, one of flin, a journeyman’s lockpick, a master’s probe, a potion of frost shield, a couple of slave keys, a ring, an amulet, and two vials of skooma.”
“I recommend selling the skooma to Ra’Virr post-haste. I know it’s illegal”—he held up his skooma pipe—“but you’ll need more funds than the Empire can supply you. Just sell it quickly; I’d hate to see my newest agent get busted for possession.”
I nodded my understanding.
“Good. Now we can talk about the Telvanni.”
C. asked me to describe what happened at Shishara, and that’s what I said. Then I elaborated.
“There was a breton woman in the entryway, maybe standing watch. She had red hair. Anyway, she wasn’t looking when I entered the door, so I stalked up behind her and slashed off her head with Kills-You-Dead”—my daedric dagger. “I searched the body; she wasn’t even armed. I don’t know why they’d post an unarmed woman on watch… in any case, I continued inside. Down a ramp to the right I found a bosmer—I got him by surprise too, with Kills-You-Dead. He carried a steel dagger, but he was unarmored so killing him was easy. Inside a room down there was an archer, another bosmer. I shot a bolt into her, then she tried to draw her long bow when she should have dove for cover. Another shot killed her. I searched the room some; there was nothing particularly valuable. Back the other way I eventually ran into the main living space, I guess. I took out another breton woman with a couple bolts, then did the same to another bosmer girl. Neither of them were armed. Up a set a stairs I found the leader, the wizard. I had put a couple bolts in him before he even started trying to cast this big fireball at me. The third bolt put a stop to any of that. He had a staff, and a bunch of books up in that room of his.”
“I’d have been taking more of a risk against scribs, sir.”
C. just sat there for a moment, considering my words. I downed half a bottle of brandy before he spoke.
“I didn’t expect it would be much of a test for you. That will change.”
“You mean some Telvanni can actually fight?”
“From what I’ve heard, Al, rogue Telvanni are rogues because they’re not strong enough to seize territory away from the others. We’ll get into Telvanni culture more. First, you said something about a bandit cave. Tell me about it.”
“Shushishi. Just over the mountains directly east of Caldera. I killed six bandits and freed four slaves. I confiscated two bottles of brandy, one of flin, a journeyman’s lockpick, a master’s probe, a potion of frost shield, a couple of slave keys, a ring, an amulet, and two vials of skooma.”
“I recommend selling the skooma to Ra’Virr post-haste. I know it’s illegal”—he held up his skooma pipe—“but you’ll need more funds than the Empire can supply you. Just sell it quickly; I’d hate to see my newest agent get busted for possession.”
I nodded my understanding.
“Good. Now we can talk about the Telvanni.”
Thanks for clearing up Al's equipment stuff.
Solid update as usual. I'm sure he would trade easy missions like this for what he's doing in Mournhold now anyday.
Solid update as usual. I'm sure he would trade easy missions like this for what he's doing in Mournhold now anyday.
It's back! Yep, that impetuous Al at (shudder) age 25. Enjoy.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
At sea my troubles melt away. This morning I boarded the ship that would take me to Sadrith Mora, where the spymaster said I would best learn the ways of the Telvanni for myself. I think he was disappointed with me at our last meeting—he didn’t think I was taking his warnings about the Telvanni seriously. He was right, of course—a perceptive man. I shall have to learn to better conceal my thinking.
I suppose, considering my temper, that C. is concerned about me doing something rash. The Telvanni, he said, are slavers near as brutal to the Dres. View my kind as little better than animals. Don’t think much better of even the humans. Driven mad and made bold by their access to arcane power and by their isolation on the eastern fringe of Tamriel.
Maybe. Maybe so. Whether I believe him or not—and surely he is exaggerating—doesn’t matter. I would find out for myself soon enough.
The ship had two other passengers, a wood elf and an imperial, whom I entertained a bit by practicing my marksmanship on distant cliffracers. They were suitably impressed by my steady hand, and pleased with any effort to reduce the flying beasts’ numbers. Both my companions were headed to Sadrith Mora—the wood elf wore a strange armor shaped from bone and said he was trying to join the Telvanni as a mercenary; the Cyrodiil wore fancy duds and said he had a business at a cornerclub, Dirty Muriel’s.
It is a long ride by boat to Sadrith Mora. The shipmaster made port for the evening not quite half arrived—we ended up at a place called Tel Branora, a small Telvanni backwater town. That makes it seem unimpressive, but I assure you that it is not. I think my jaw dropped when we pulled into the dock—C. had said something about “strange architecture”, but that hardly prepared me for the first sight of… the tower. I can hardly describe it, save as tall, colorful, and fungoid—like a gigantic cluster of scaly mushrooms. Strange architecture, indeed. How could such a thing even be built?
The tower looked like it had sprung forth from the earth.
“Don’t be shy, outlander. We don’t bite. That is, in Tel Branora, we only bite fools. What can I do for you?”
The greeting was surprisingly friendly, coming from a dunmer. From a Telvanni retainer, no less. I stood outside some joint called Sethan’s Tradehouse, still a little stunned, and a Telvanni had thrown me a lifeline.
I told him my name was Al, and that I was rather new to these parts. The tattooed face smiled back at me. “Name’s Balis Favani—I’m a spellsword. What do you do for a living?”
I was going to make up something in response, but remembered something the spymaster had said:
“Don’t lie if you don’t have to. It just complicates matters and makes you think too hard.”
Exactly. Dazed as I was from just arriving in a strange land, it was best to not think too much. I’d never been much for lying in Black Marsh, anyway.
I smiled, “Nice to meet you, Balis. I’m an assassin.”
He nodded, gravely. “Morag Tong?”
I smiled again, a little wider, but said nothing. Without ever lying, I had permitted Balis Favani to get a useful wrong impression. The Morag Tong, C. had told me, was the local, legal, and respected guild of assassins. The perfect cover. I even carried a few blank writs along—blank except for the stamp of the Morag Tong—to deal with inconveniences.
Favani continued, “Just stay away from Therana and we’ll have no trouble, assassin. I don’t know why you’re here, and I don’t care. We don’t care about politics. We don’t care what others think. We just want to be left alone.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------
At sea my troubles melt away. This morning I boarded the ship that would take me to Sadrith Mora, where the spymaster said I would best learn the ways of the Telvanni for myself. I think he was disappointed with me at our last meeting—he didn’t think I was taking his warnings about the Telvanni seriously. He was right, of course—a perceptive man. I shall have to learn to better conceal my thinking.
I suppose, considering my temper, that C. is concerned about me doing something rash. The Telvanni, he said, are slavers near as brutal to the Dres. View my kind as little better than animals. Don’t think much better of even the humans. Driven mad and made bold by their access to arcane power and by their isolation on the eastern fringe of Tamriel.
Maybe. Maybe so. Whether I believe him or not—and surely he is exaggerating—doesn’t matter. I would find out for myself soon enough.
The ship had two other passengers, a wood elf and an imperial, whom I entertained a bit by practicing my marksmanship on distant cliffracers. They were suitably impressed by my steady hand, and pleased with any effort to reduce the flying beasts’ numbers. Both my companions were headed to Sadrith Mora—the wood elf wore a strange armor shaped from bone and said he was trying to join the Telvanni as a mercenary; the Cyrodiil wore fancy duds and said he had a business at a cornerclub, Dirty Muriel’s.
It is a long ride by boat to Sadrith Mora. The shipmaster made port for the evening not quite half arrived—we ended up at a place called Tel Branora, a small Telvanni backwater town. That makes it seem unimpressive, but I assure you that it is not. I think my jaw dropped when we pulled into the dock—C. had said something about “strange architecture”, but that hardly prepared me for the first sight of… the tower. I can hardly describe it, save as tall, colorful, and fungoid—like a gigantic cluster of scaly mushrooms. Strange architecture, indeed. How could such a thing even be built?
The tower looked like it had sprung forth from the earth.
“Don’t be shy, outlander. We don’t bite. That is, in Tel Branora, we only bite fools. What can I do for you?”
The greeting was surprisingly friendly, coming from a dunmer. From a Telvanni retainer, no less. I stood outside some joint called Sethan’s Tradehouse, still a little stunned, and a Telvanni had thrown me a lifeline.
I told him my name was Al, and that I was rather new to these parts. The tattooed face smiled back at me. “Name’s Balis Favani—I’m a spellsword. What do you do for a living?”
I was going to make up something in response, but remembered something the spymaster had said:
“Don’t lie if you don’t have to. It just complicates matters and makes you think too hard.”
Exactly. Dazed as I was from just arriving in a strange land, it was best to not think too much. I’d never been much for lying in Black Marsh, anyway.
I smiled, “Nice to meet you, Balis. I’m an assassin.”
He nodded, gravely. “Morag Tong?”
I smiled again, a little wider, but said nothing. Without ever lying, I had permitted Balis Favani to get a useful wrong impression. The Morag Tong, C. had told me, was the local, legal, and respected guild of assassins. The perfect cover. I even carried a few blank writs along—blank except for the stamp of the Morag Tong—to deal with inconveniences.
Favani continued, “Just stay away from Therana and we’ll have no trouble, assassin. I don’t know why you’re here, and I don’t care. We don’t care about politics. We don’t care what others think. We just want to be left alone.”
Nice to see it back. This is good, Al is even more entertaining as his younger self.
Nice pictures too - what did you do to them?
Nice pictures too - what did you do to them?
QUOTE(Olen @ Dec 6 2008, 11:03 AM)
Nice to see it back. This is good, Al is even more entertaining as his younger self.
Nice pictures too - what did you do to them?
For the screen shots I used the 'rough pastel' filter in Photoshop.
It was good to see an update. I always thought it was one of the most unfortunate things ever that unarmored wizards were such a pushover in Morrowind (due to the ever-present unarmored bug). Somehow, that fear of the Telvanni that all the NPCs had never really translated to us as PCs. The one advantage of fanfics is that it is possible to create that fear. I'll be watching to see if your assassin ever encounters any Telvanni that he can at least respect as worthy, challenging adversaries.
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