Chapter 6. Information


Tracking an animal over land is easy. Even when rain and storm have ravished the land, one can still see some left over prints. Tracking a boat however, is quite a bit harder. A boat doesn’t leave prints. Varvur therefore had no idea if he was going the right way. When he rented the boat he was now travelling on, and inquired which place was most likely to be one’s destination when travelling west out of Ebonheart, the answer had been Omayni, a city just a few miles from the coast, west of the Inner Sea and easily reached by land.

They’d been travelling for a day now; the wind wasn’t helping them at all, and were just coming to the small peninsulas that can be found just off the coast there. The outcrops were small, rugged and uninhabited by all save some few mudcrabs. Sailing past them they came into view of the land and there Varvur felt lucky for the first time. On the beach, in clear view, were the remains of a small boat, looking exactly the way the Khajiit servant in Ebonheart had described it. It had obviously been there for a few days already; the fire that had charred it had long gone out and everything inside had been blackened by the fire.

Getting out of the boat, Varvur thanked the captain for bringing him there, and wished him a safe journey back. He approached the wreckage of the boat and searched what was left. Unfortunately he was unable to find anything useful. No clues, no left over things that might give away any information about the man or woman that had used this craft. And the most annoying part of it all, was that nowhere in the vicinity of the boat did Varvur find any tracks. No recent ones anyway. Oh he found many old ones, tracks made by Argonians, Dunmer, Orcs, Khajiit but no recent human tracks. The frustration was almost overwhelming. To be so close to what he knew he was looking for and finding nothing. Then he recalled lord Nerevar’s words, spoken during one of their many conversations regarding their hidden enemies.

“Patience is the hunter’s greatest virtue. A careless movement or loud exhalation of breath can frighten the prey. That is especially true if the quarry knows it is being hunted.”

At once saddened and reassured by the remembered advice, Varvur decided the best thing to do would be to travel to Omayni and inquire there. Luckily Omayni was a Redoran controlled city, so he should have no trouble finding information there. The trip proved uneventful, except for a small gang of highwaymen who tried to stop Varvur, for some reason assuming they could get some gold from him since they outnumbered him 5 to one. After he had killed three of them, and wounded another, the last one had no problem allowing him to pass and forgetting about the “your money or your life” line he’d only just before uttered.

Omayni was a typical Redoran town, with buildings made in the shape of crab shells and centered around a temple complex. Not nearly the size of Ald’ruhn, but definitely larger then Gnisis. The garrison complex stood at the far side of the gates, and Varvur wasted no time in going there. The guard at the front desk looked sullenly at Varvur, and was probably just about to ask him his business, or even worse, tell him to move along. “I am Varvur Sarethi and wish to speak to your captain.”

With that he showed the bored guard his family’s amulet just to make sure there was no doubting he really was who he claimed to be. The change in the guard’s demeanor was remarkable; it was interesting watching him attempt to sit at attention while disposing of the remains of his meal.

“My lord, I am captain Mallam Ryon, how may I serve?”

“A few miles up the coast you can find a burned boat. A man came from it and presumably headed here. He was human- Breton, Imperial or Nord- although short for a Nord if he was a Nord, with fair hair, dark eyes and dressed most likely as a servant. Tell me captain, have you seen such a man?”

“My lord, I will look up all the log files of my men and question them to see if one of them might have left something out, something trivial. But there are some patrols out who are a few days travel from here. Getting word to them, and getting them back here, will take a while. My apologies, my lord, might you consider staying in my home until such time as everything has been examined? It would be my honour to house you as a guest.”

“I’m afraid days isn’t good enough, captain. I wish to depart the day after tomorrow at the latest. I’m sorry, but the longer I wait, the more likely the man is to get away from me.”

“Of course my lord; we will do our best. Please, I will have my servant here show you to my home.”

Varvur followed the servant to a small mansion. Inside the people must have gotten word already that he was coming as servants were standing by with refreshments and ready to take his armour and weapons from him.

“Don’t worry my lord; we will place all of this in your room.” Walking around the house, Varvur was impressed. For a captain of a small city like this, Mallam was certainly able to decorate his house nicely; either he was up to his ears in debt, or most likely, he had come from an old family. But for some odd reason Varvur could not remember ever having met the Ryon family, and he’d certainly accompanied his father to see all the old families of House Redoran at one time or another.

A short while later, as it was turning dark outside, Mallam came home. Varvur had just been speaking to the captain’s wife, a very beautiful Dunmer called Felisa Ulessen originally, now of course she was called Felisa Ryon. Her conversation revealed a quick mind as well as a generous spirit, for she mentioned that she spent quite a number of years helping the mentally challenged. Varvur looked up just as Mallam Ryon was entering the room, and for a moment thought he saw a surprised look cross his eyes, but only for a moment. Before Varvur could be certain, Mallam was smiling widely and welcoming Varvur into his home. “I hope my lady wife has been a pleasant companion so far my lord.“

“That she has captain Ryon, that she has. She was just telling me about the charity work she has done, with the mentally challenged.” Mallam raised an eyebrow at that.

“Yes, I fear you must forgive her; I’m sure my lord would be much more interested in other things and I’m afraid talking too much has always been my wife’s weakness.”

I don't know why but there is something suspicious about this captain. The signs are subtle but they are there. His house, his suspicious look, the fact that he berates his wife for talking too much and the fact that his wife has cared for retards of a mental nature. The retard part points me in the direction of the Bosmer jester.

Anyway, I hope Varvur's investigation goes soundly and he uncovers the culprit.

Mmmm there certainly is something fishy going on....quite the purpose, right? Oh I can't wait til next update!

Wow, I think Griff has picked up on something. I don't even think I would've noticed that. Sharp mind my friend.

And Alexander: things are still going quite nicely. Keep up the good work.

Varvur found that an odd line of thinking, but made no mention of it. The last thing he wanted to do was create tension between a Mer and his wife. He didn’t have much time to ponder that though, because at that time servants entered with dinner. Mallam seated himself next to his wife, opposite Varvur and gestured for Varvur to take the first piece of the meal. It proved to be deliciously cooked Netch flesh, with some spices to make it even better. The servants also kept replenishing his cup. Cyrodiilic brandy of the best kind; again Varvur noted the apparent luxury for a captain. But even that thought washed away after the fourth glass. While the first three had been potent, the fourth had somehow seemed even more intoxicating, and Varvur found it increasingly hard to focus his thoughts, let alone keep his eyes open.

It did not go unnoticed- Captain Ryon repeated a question, but Varvur simply couldn’t remember what had been asked. He felt so sluggish; he couldn’t remember having felt this way before and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open. “My lord, you seem awfully tired, perhaps it would be best to retire now, here, my servants will help you to your rooms. I realise the day must have been more tiring then you thought.”

That was the last Varvur could remember until he woke up. He was lying in a comfortable bed, in rooms he didn’t recognise. Slowly coming to he realised he must have been in the rooms of Captain Ryon’s house. Even the guest rooms were lavishly decorated, with ancient expensive carpets, beautifully crafted vases and furniture. Varvur felt very groggy, and found he still had trouble focusing his thoughts. He remembered the dinner, and feeling so very tired after that last glass of brandy. Of course, there must have been something in the brandy. Slowly sitting up, he spotted his armour, clothing and weapons in a corner of the room. They had all been cleaned. At least no one had taken them away. Getting up and dressing himself proved difficult, but Varvur was able to manage. Someone must have heard him, for the next moment a servant arrived and asked if he needed anything. Varvur asked to be brought to captain Ryon, who he found sitting at his desk in his study.

“My lord, how good to see you’re finally awake.”

“Captain, how goes the search; will you be able to have all the information I asked for tomorrow as promised?”

“My lord, we finished the search yesterday;, you’ve been asleep for three days. You must have been very tired. I even had the town priests look after you to make sure nothing was amiss.” Had he really slept for three days? That was awful, how could that have been? Unless, unless there really was something in that brandy. Yes, Varvur realised that was the only way this could have happened. Damn. How could he have been so stupid? He’d known there was something odd about captain Ryon the minute he set eyes on him. Something just didn’t seem right with him, the home so lavish for such a small time captain, the look in his eyes, the things he said. Varvur felt himself grow nervous. There was little he could do about the captain; he didn’t have any proof of this, and if the temple priests had come to him and examined him, surely they must have noticed he had been given something to sleep, and why wouldn’t they have said anything? Unless they too were part of some plot. And which guards could he trust? No. Better to get whatever information this captain Ryon would give him and leave. He would contact his father the moment he got away from here and tell him there were traitors in Omayni.

“Well Captain, what did your search find?”

“I’m so sorry my lord, but we found nothing. A patrol did find the burned boat you mentioned, but by then it was already too late, no one was found near it. No tracks leading away from it, and no patrol has seen any strangers moving about for the last week. Nor has anyone entered the city in that time. I’m sorry, my lord, but it seems whoever was on that boat did not come anywhere near Omayni.”

“Thank you for your effort captain. I’ll be sure to speak highly of your cooperation and your good care of me when next I speak to my father.”

“My lord is too kind, I did but what any good Redoran would do. Would you not share a meal with me before you go?”

“No Captain, thank you for your offer but I really must be on my way. But thank you, and thank you lady Ryon for all your good care.” With that Varvur took his leave. He wanted to get out of there as fast as he could without raising any alarm. He was able to exit the gates with no trouble, but found himself looking over his shoulders all the way back to the coast. Now what, he wondered. It was obvious that he would get nowhere trying to track the poisoner, and not just that, now he had the job of getting to a reliable messenger as soon as possible to tell his father of traitors in Omayni. The best place to do that he concluded would be Veranis Hall another small city located north-west of Omayni and ruled by a noble. The noble was a cousin of his father and a confidant of the family. Varvur knew he would have to travel fast, with very few rations, but saw no other option. Besides, near Veranis Hall there were more methods of transportation and wherever he was going next, he needed reliable transportation.

It took Varvur all of that day, and a bit of the next but at noon on the second day he came into view of the Veranis gatehouse. One of the guards recognised him at once, and brought him before his father’s cousin. Balen Sarethi was a powerful man, standing very tall for a Dunmer, and while age was creeping up on him, it did not show. He still looked to be in the prime of his life and, after hearing what Varvur had to say about Omayni, he looked ready to march on the town all by himself and eradicate the traitors. He also recalled the curious circumstance under which the last Captain of Omayni died- killed by a Nix hound while he was hunting them, when all of house Redoran knew what a superb hunter the captain had been. Still, with so many witnesses, no one ever thought to look into it further. “Balen, where do I go now? I have no idea where the assassin sped off to, so how can I avenge my master’s death if I don’t know where the assassin went?”

“Varvur, when I was a lot younger then you are now, I was attacked by a snake. Before I knew what had hit me, it was coiling itself around me trying to suffocate me. Your father saved me from it by cleaving the head of the snake right down the middle. I remember he told me something then, he said, ’Remember, when you fight a snake, don’t trouble yourself with the body, for it but serves the head. Attack the head and you’ll win the day’. Perhaps Varvur, that word of advice can also be used in this situation?”

Varvur smiled, knowing what Balen meant, and Athyn before him. Now the trouble was which snake’s head to go after. As he was considering things carefully, he said goodbye to Balen and went in search of transport to Vivec.

It seemed the suspicions proved true yet the matter has gotten even more complicated. Which head could Varvur cleave? Captain Ryon's? Or Helseth's? Actually, we don't even know who was really responsible for the poisoning.

Still, as I read you tale it reminds me more and more of ASoIaF. There are just subtle things in the text that point in that direction, much like your description of Balen Sarethi. It simply reminds me of the description of a character from that series, in the way it's worded.

At the risk of spoiling anything, I don't believe their head is at Vivec






Purely coincidental I assure you. As I mentioned, I did read ASoIaF just before I started work on my own tale, so I guess some things must have stayed with me and brushed off on it. But I can assure you, I did not use ASoIaF knowingly as an example for my tale

I was never accusing you of using Martin's work as an example, merely that reading you fine work reminded me of it. That is a very good thing in my book, seeing as I can't actually read anything new coming from Martin (I told you about my predicament). It's just nice for me to read something even remotely similar to such a great work of fantasy.

Chapter 7. Ascension.

The funeral had just ended; it was something Helseth would likely never forget. He had enjoyed giving that speech; no one had expected him to free the slaves, but he was two steps ahead of everyone. Not even his allies had known about it, but Helseth knew that keeping them in the dark was the only way for them to look surprised. They were terrible actors. What Helseth liked best though, was when before the funeral even started, he had been able to sneak into the Imperial cult shrine just before they had put lord Nerevar into his coffin. He had been composed, and even managed to look sad and wipe away a tear, but all the while he had wanted to laugh right into lord Nerevar’s dead face, laughing, pointing and gloating over how he had won, how he had outsmarted lord Nerevar after all. Yes, that truly was a happy day for Helseth. He had stayed there even when the priests put Nerevar into the coffin, he could tell the priests didn’t think it proper for him to be around during that, but he wasn’t worried about upsetting a few Imperial priests.

Now though, the funeral had just ended, and Helseth saw Crassius Curio walking away with Dram Bero. His guard Drusus had told him Crassius had refused to relinquish command of house Hlaalu to Helseth. Apparently after hearing how four Councillors already supported Helseth, Curio had been very close to agreeing, so very close, but then Dram Bero had walked in, and after hearing the entire story he had been able to talk Curio out of it. There had always been a dislike between Helseth and Bero, but never like this. Helseth knew he would make Bero pay for this with his life.

Helseth strolled along to catch up with Curio and Bero, and was able to catch them before they were at the docks.

“Councillor Curio, my guard tells me you’ve been most hospitable to him. My thanks for that.”

Curio inclined his head, “It is but my duty as host, my king; it was no trouble.”

Helseth smiled, “And Drusus tells me we’re very close to coming to an agreement about my proposal- isn’t that so, Councillor? I’m sure you’ve found my offer more then fair.”

Curio snorted at that, “’Fair’? You would call that ‘fair’? You’re trying to get me to retire, virtually hand you house Hlaalu and spend the rest of my days on some deserted farm where no doubt my death will somehow come much faster than in my fortified mansion. Probably stress related, but still.”

Helseth smiled his innocent smile, “My dear Councillor Curio, all I wish is for you to be able to live the rest of your life out in wealth and comfort, as is befitting a noble of your stature.”

“Sure,” Dram Bero interrupted him, “you mean it from the kindness of your heart, right Helseth?” Subtlety had never been his strong side.

Helseth sighed. There was just no talking to these men; for nobles of the house of thieves, they were surely honourable.
“As you wish, councillors. I see my good wishes are wasted on you, but I will wish you good evening, and a long and prosperous life anyway.” And with that Helseth walked away. When he was away, his sad look turned into a smile. After tonight, Dram Bero at least would no longer be a problem. While the two councillors had been looking at Helseth’s face, his hand had signalled to Garding, the Nord guardian of Dram Bero, that tonight it should happen.

Bero really was a fool, taking a Nord for a guardian; everyone knew they would sell themselves to the highest bidder, not to mention run around half naked to please one or another witch. Nah, Nords were fools. Helseth saw his own guard Drusus approach, and gave him his orders:

“Drusus. Go back to Vivec, and wait for Curio there. Give him one more chance to do the right thing. If he refuses, you know what to do.” Drusus bowed and left. Helseth smiled. Everything was going according to plan. After tonight, house Hlaalu would be his, as it should be.

When he got back to Mournhold, Gavas Drin, the local head of the temple, was waiting for him.

“My king, I’ve done as you asked, I’ve upped the medicine dosage for her highness the queen mother.”

“Good,” Helseth smiled, “and can you make sure she won’t be able to fight the medicine like last time?”

Gavas shook his head, “Her highness is very resilient; the medicine is effective right now, but I can’t estimate how it develops.”

“Well, I guess it will have to do. A few months should be all it takes. Once I’m really in control of Morrowind, I can send her to prison and won’t have to worry about someone objecting.”

Gavas looked shocked, “But- my king, why do that to your own mother? Surely there are other ways.”

“Gavas, let me tell you something. Not too long ago my dear mother found out I was behind the death of the old king. I begged and pleaded with her not to tell, but in the end, if I hadn’t given her your medicine in the first place, she would have gone off and told lord Nerevar. Do you realise that Gavas? My own mother would have betrayed me. No. After the coming war is won, she will have to go.”

Helseth looked into Gavas’s eyes, “Don’t worry, Gavas, you will get your just reward. After everything is set and done, you will become head of the entire Tribunal Temple.”

Any objections Gavas may have had vanished when Helseth said that, and he turned and left.

Helseth certainly has a web of control and backstabbing going, he's a dangerous one. But I can some potential holes. This is quite exciting and moving.

I'm liking Varvur's line as well, he's certainly single minded.

Nice stuff

Nice developments. Helseth is certainly despicable. I like it!

Helseth stared after him as he left, and wondered how much Gavas would enjoy sharing that cell with Barenziah when the time came. A cruel smile crossed Helseth’s lips.

The next day, as Helseth was reading through a few petitions, a knock on the door preceded his guard Drusus. “My king, I‘ve just come back from Vivec.”

“Ah, Drusus, welcome, and how fares our good friend Crassius Curio?”

“My king, he would not listen to reason, so I made sure he will not bother you again. As promised, I went to Master Yngling and told him to testify and say he saw Master Bero leaving Curio manor late last night. I expect before the end of the day, there will be a massive hunt on for Bero.”

“Good, you’ve done well, Drusus. But now I have another job for you. In a moment a very rude Nord will come in, so please stand in the corner beside the door and wait there for a moment.” Helseth saw Drusus smile; it was so nice to have men in his employ who were not bothered by simple things like guilt or honesty.

Right on time, another knock came at the door and Garding strolled in carrying a dark sack. “King, it is done. Dram Bero will bother you no more.”

“Thank you Garding, and did you take care of the body like I asked you to?”

“Aye, I did. I buried the body, but thought you might wish to look one more time on the face of him, so I kept that.” Helseth saw him put a hand into the sack, and pull out the remains of the man he’d hated so much. The face was barely recognisable, blood and wounds covering it’s every piece. Garding had obviously gone into a frenzy when he did it. Helseth looked at him again,

“So, even though I asked you explicitly to get rid of the body, the entire body, you choose to walk in here in broad daylight, carrying evidence that could destroy me?”

Helseth felt himself flush as Garding argued, “King, I will get rid of the head shortly if it bothers you so much. I just thought to show you it was done, and done well.”

“You idiot,” Helseth screamed, “what if someone had seen you come in carrying that; you could have ruined everything.”

He nodded to the corner where Drusus was waiting. “King, none of that now. I gave you what you wanted, Bero is dead, now I want my reward. Where..”

Garding stopped in mid=sentence, a small line of blood trickling from his mouth down his chin, and he looked down to see the end of a sword protruding from his stomach. He gurgled and it seemed for a moment as if he was going to say something more, but Drusus turned the blade and Garding fell down dead.

“Imbecile,” Helseth said as he kicked the lifeless corpse. “Drusus, get rid of this, and of the head. Make sure no one ever finds them.”

“As my king commands,” came the reply.

Helseth received a message later that day. A message he’d been expecting. It was from the Hlaalu council asking him to come to the Council house in Balmora and officially take the responsibility of the house as Grandmaster. He wasted no time in assembling a guard to go along with him and travelled to Balmora.

The trip was a short one, using magical means to travel to Vivec, and then on with a Silt Strider to Balmora. Helseth loved Balmora; it was a busy city, always booming with life and people coming and going constantly. A path was cleared through the masses by his guard, and he walked to the Hlaalu council house. Once inside, he saw all of the councillors had been awaiting him. Only four remained now, but they didn’t seem to mind. Like Helseth, most of them had always believed in the credo: “The fewer Mer, the more land and slaves for those who remain”. Yngling especially looked ready to burst with pride; an opportunist to the bone, he likely saw the potential of Helseth running the house.

“Thank you, councillors, for this honor you’ve seen fit to bestow upon my person. I promise you all to do my best to lead this house to greatness once again. Where Hlaalu will stand as the paramount house, alone above the others. And I promise you, stick with me, and you’ll become rich beyond your wildest dreams.” The councillors cheered at that, and Helseth looked pleased. “This is how easy things can be,” he whispered to himself.

Chapter 8. A tale of two Snakes.

Vivec. Quite possibly the largest city in Morrowind both in terms of population and overall size. Divided into cantons, with a change in two of them since lord Nerevar had come back. After he’d defeated Dagoth Ur, and then killed the remaining two members of the Tribunal, the temple followers wanted to change the palace that had belonged to Vivec, and turn it into a palace for lord Nerevar. He had refused, of course, but he did make a few other changes. Formerly St. Olms canton was now home to representatives of the house Indoril. And St. Delyn home to house Dres. Varvur assumed lord Nerevar had always thought whoever had built Vivec had made an error by only allowing three houses to represent themselves there.

As was customary, Varvur first went in search of the ranking Redoran in Vivec, Favela Dralor. While walking through the Hlaalu compound, where the boat had dropped him off, Varvur noticed many nervous and even hostile looks thrown his way. There was a tension here so clearly one could likely cut it with a Daedric dagger. He sighed in relief when he found himself across the bridge to the Redoran canton, but even there he felt some nervous stares.

Favela revealed the reason for the nervousness. “Haven’t you heard yet, Varvur? Cassius Curio was murdered two nights ago. He was found by servants yesterday morning; someone had strangled him. It was not a pretty sight, I can assure you. But luckily there’s already a large search going on to find the killer, one of his own kin- can you imagine that? But then the Hlaalu have never taken their house relations as seriously as we have.”

“Who killed him then, Favela?”

“Why it was that Dram Bero character. I tell you, no one in his right mind would want to live in a haunted house, and he proved that he was crazy when he strangled old Curio.”

“But did anyone see him do it? I mean are there any witnesses?” Varvur remembered when he’d last seen master Bero at the funeral and he looked simply crushed. And even before that, he’d always been on good terms with most of the Redoran and even Indoril nobles. To think he could have done such a ghastly deed.

“Yes, Yngling saw him. He witnessed Bero coming out of Curio’s manor, and saw him holding a bloody cord. He confronted him about it and was nearly killed himself. Bero fled the city and Yngling got together with the other remaining councillors; Velanda Omani, Nevena Ules and Raynasa Rethan, and threw Bero out of house Hlaalu. I hope they find that monster and string him up.”

Varvur thanked Favela for bringing him up to speed. Even though he had some doubts about Dram Bero being the killer, he was wise enough to keep those to himself, and went on his way, the reason he’d come to Vivec. Across the bridge from the Redoran Compound lay the Arena, a canton on its own, it housed much of the scum of Vivec. At the very top one could find the actual Arena, with seating to house all of Vivec if need be. Varvur recalled the crowd when lord Nerevar had battled the former Grandmaster of the Redoran, Bolvyn Venim. There hadn’t been an empty seat in the area. Everyone who was anyone wanted to see this man who claimed to be an incarnate in action, not least of all the Redoran nobles. I think there were but a few people who actually felt sorry when Venim was cleanly beheaded by lord Nerevar, and most of those were removed from the house in the next few weeks due to evidence of corruption. All were surprised when rather then demanding the title of Grandmaster for himself, lord Nerevar instead allowed the Redoran to choose amongst their own for the new Grandmaster. Of course Varvur’s father had been granted that honour. Varvur later learned that to be typical of lord Nerevar’s character, an excellent swordsman, perhaps the best in the land even, with a huge sense of honor and righteousness, he was the ultimate fighter. At the same time he’d never to Varvur’s knowledge, used any magical or stealth abilities. But with a sword arm as fast as his, he didn’t need it.

But today Varvur was not there to visit the arena pit to see a fight; no today he went to where the rats were housed, to the storage area. It was a place everyone knew how to find, but none were willing to go. Entering the area, Varvur noticed he was being followed. A Dunmer whom he had seen first in the Hlaalu canton was trying his best to go unobserved. Quickly, Varvur rounded a corner, drew his blade and stood very quietly. Very softly, he heard ever nearing footsteps and just as the tail reached the end of the stairs, Varvur grabbed him, shoved him to the wall and pressed his blade to his throat.

“Why are you following me?”

“Mercy Serah, I was merely ordered to keep you from doing anything rash.”

“Like killing you?” Varvur saw he held a young Dunmer, he couldn’t have been more then 50 years old, most definitely not a weathered assassin.

“Serah, Grandmaster Eno bid me to welcome you, and promise you safe passage for one day in our headquarters. Look Serah, in my right pocket is his seal.” Not trusting what appeared to be the thrall a bit, he bid him to slowly take it out himself. It proved to be truly the seal of the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong.

Such a thing had not occurred so long as Varvur could remember, a non-member allowed freely into the headquarters of the Morag Tong and leaving with their life.

“Please Serah, the grandmaster bid me to blindfold you so you would not know the inside.” Varvur sheathed his blade, and allowed himself to be blindfolded. He was led by the thrall into a door, and down a short ladder. He assumed he was directly below the storage area now and he didn’t think this was the only entrance, and likely the last time this entrance would be used. He walked for a short time through what he felt was a narrow corridor; in the distance he heard some vague chanting so he knew there had to be a shrine present, and a bit further he heard the distinct clink of blades. They came to a door, and he heard the thrall knock softly on it. The door opened and he was ushered inside. Not until the door was again closed and locked though, was the blindfold removed. And there Varvur found himself eye to eye with Eno Hlaalu. Though relatively young at 125, the current Grandmaster of the Morag Tong was already legendary. Rumour had it he’d made a tremendously fast rise to the top of the assassins guild, and there was even a rumour that he’d allowed the former Grandmaster, already getting on with age, die peacefully in a remote location rather than killing him as was the custom. Such rumours had of course never been proven.

“Hello Varvur; I knew you’d come here sooner or later. I hope my thrall has not inconvenienced you in any way?”

“No, thank you, master Hlaalu,” Varvur had always been taught it’s better to show politeness to a snake when you entered its den than risk its wrath, “But your thrall could do with some more lessons in how to better sneak.”

“Yes, I’ve been telling him that myself but young people today have a hard time listening.” Varvur listened as he looked over the room. It was very plain, with very few things in sight. Almost everything in it seemed to have a function except perhaps one thing. In a corner Varvur saw a magnificent enchanted cuirass. It was obviously crafted from heavy material by the looks of it and very out of place in the room of a warrior who spent his entire time training for speed.

“Yes, a magnificent cuirass, wouldn’t you agree Varvur? It’s actually an artefact, the Lords Mail. It was given to me as payment for a….. recent service. Of course that is all I can say about that.”

Hm, the plot thickens more and more. What could the Morag Tong have had to do with Nerevar's death? A couple of things that kept me from enjoying your latest update to the fullest are two awkwardly phrased sentences in the paragraph which describes the Nerevarine's victory against Bolvyn Venim. They were rather illogical but overall it was a good update with enough mystery to it.

Also, near the end, you confused "than" with "then". Understandable though.

Hm, could you point out those two sentences? Then I can still improve them perhaps

"Varvur later learned that to be typical of lord Nerevar’s character, an excellent swordsman, perhaps the best in the land even, a huge sense of honor and righteousness, he was the ultimate fighter."

This sentence doesn't make too much sense if you ask me. I think you ate up a verb somewhere, perhaps before the "huge sense of honour and righteousness" part. Now that I look at it however, it is only one sentence.

I also see that you've corrected the part where you confused "than" with "then".

Varvur nodded. “So, you’ve come here looking for the murderer of lord Nerevar have you? You’ve come to the wrong place. No Morag Tong member killed lord Nerevar. Not many people know of this, but he and I made an arrangement. He would allow us to remain, doing what we do, for the guarantee that each time there was a council meeting, every member of the Morag Tong was accounted for and inside either this headquarters, or one of the chapter houses in the great cities. After the murder I immediately summoned the local heads, and all the members that night were accounted for. So you see, we could not have done it.”

“Why would lord Nerevar make such an arrangement with you master Hlaalu?”

“I guess he did not want to have to worry about anyone falling over dead during a council meeting. Though I guess in the end, it was not enough.”
Varvur believed him; one could say a lot about the Morag Tong, but they were definitely not liars. Their honour code prohibited it.

“But then if the Morag Tong was not responsible, do you have an idea who was?”

Eno looked Varvur over first before he said, “No. I cannot give you the name of the murderer, but I can give you the name of one who might know. Belwen, a Bosmer and clothier in Mournhold has long been believed to be either a member, or an informer of our Sithis-worshipping cousins. He might not be the head of the snake, but at least he might be able to tell you where to find it.”

Varvur saw Eno looking at him slyly, head of the snake, either a coincidence, or Eno had known what Balen Sarethi had said to him. Varvur assumed the latter and it made him shudder with unease.

“Now before you go Varvur, a word of advice: be careful what you do once you’re in Mournhold. Some of my thralls call me the master of birds, after a hobby of mine. I enjoy listening to the songs of birds, and the past week those songs have not been good. They sing of death, of people being murdered, of the undead moving in vast numbers across the land to Mephala knows where, Great Houses being rearranged, old alliances broken and new ones popping up everywhere. Some might say we have an exciting time ahead of us, but to people who make their living off of covert deaths, I think the coming time will be dangerous, and trying. Now leave Varvur, and don’t come back. If you are wise, stay out of our path, for when next you meet the Morag Tong, there might be more then a thrall waiting.”

As if on cue, the young thrall entered the room again and bound the blindfold over Varvur’s eyes. He was carefully lead back through the corridor, and out of the headquarters. When they were back in the storage area, the thrall asked to have the Grandmaster’s seal back, promised to deliver it again onto the hands of Grandmaster Eno, and disappeared into the shadows. Upon consideration, Varvur thought the thrall might not have been as inexperienced as he’d wanted him to think. With that thought and everything Eno had told him, he set out to find Asciene Rane to inquire about transportation to Mournhold.

Of course Varvur knew of whom Eno had been speaking. The Dark Brotherhood, once a part of the Morag Tong, who ages past had broken off from the Morag Tong and started their own assassins guild. It quickly became little more then a death guild though, abandoning the worship of Mephala, led by a legendary creature called the Night Mother, they now sought the favour of the dark one, Sithis. The Dark Brotherhood in recent years had crossed the path of lord Nerevar three times, first sending a single assassin, then sending no fewer then three assassins when lord Nerevar disposed of the first. He did the unthinkable though and actually faced and defeated three Dark Brotherhood assassins. After that second attempt he felt the world, or at least Morrowind, would be a better place without them. As the story goes, he travelled by himself to Mournhold, found the Dark Brotherhood beneath the Great Bazaar and killed them to a man, even going so far as to kill one of the famed speakers of the Dark Hand. That was a feat few people could honestly claim.

In recent years no Dark Brotherhood member had shown itself in Morrowind, and their lair beneath the Great Bazaar was long empty, but all knew that was no assurance that the Brotherhood really was gone. If this Belwen was in fact a member, then the Brotherhood had once again found some nerve. After having arrived in Mournhold, Varvur wasted no time in finding the shop of Belwen. He spent a few hours first observing the store from a distance, and when it was growing late and Belwen was just about to close up for the evening, Varvur entered the shop. A look of recognition crossed the face of Belwen and he immediately went for something underneath his desk. But Varvur proved even faster as he drew his blade and put the very tip of it square through the throat of the Mer.
His instincts proved correct, as below the counter Varvur found both a crossbow aimed at the door, and what appeared to be an explosive device. He assumed Belwen would have tried to use the bolt on him first, and then if that had failed, he would have blown himself up before answering any questions.

Such a Dwemer explosive device was very hard to come by, and very expensive, an indication that Belwen had been more then a simple lowly operative, and more than a mere spy. Varvur locked the door of the shop from the inside, and went on a careful search through the house. During that search he came very close to setting off traps on several occasions. The first was a book he opened to see if there was something hidden inside and the book was connected to a wire. It was all he could do to duck in time for the crossbow bolt to barely miss him. And when he found the hatch leading down to the basement of the shop, two of the stairs were rigged and below there were a number of very sharp, and most likely poisoned spears waiting for anyone not alert enough.

In the end, his search proved successful at least, for on a table in the basement of the shop Varvur found a note sent to Belwen.

Last message received in good order. No new orders. Fafnir will collect your next report as scheduled. If you must reach him, it’s the same location as always, Imperial City, Cyrodiil.
Mother is pleased.
L.L.

How careless, Varvur observed, to mention an operative by name like that. It must be someone very low on the list for them to care so little about his identity. And that last line obviously referred to the Night Mother. If this L.L. knew how she felt about him, he or she must be someone who could take Varvur to her. And he had a feeling this Fafnir would be able to tell him who L.L. was.

Hm, I can sense a bit of Varys the Spider in Eno Hlaalu's passion of "listening to birds". Much like Varys' famed whispers which served him so well. Still, the plot really thickens now, seeing as the Dark Brotherhood is also involved. I don't know why, but the mention of Lucien Lachance makes me think Varvur's in for a visit to Cyrodiil to inquire about certain things...and maybe spread rumours the Nerevarine's departure to Akavir.

Woah.....you're incredible Alex!...Just got to collect this story if I may! More please?

Chapter 9. Plans unfold.

Sadrith Mora. ‘Forest of Mushrooms’ as the translation went. A most apt name, Baladas thought. For every building but two were true Telvanni. Mushrooms, grown and shaped using magic in ancient traditions. The town was shaped in an oval form, with all the buildings surrounding the ancient Tel; Tel Naga. Master Neloth had been killed by lord Nerevar during his quest to become Hortator, and a short time later, the Supreme Magister had asked Baladas to become the new Master of Sadrith Mora. Baladas had known it was only at Divayth’s “suggestion” that this offer had been made, and he had accepted.

The first thing he’d done when coming to Sadrith Mora had been to free the slaves, closing down the slave market and putting up proclamations there. No one in the area of Sadrith Mora was allowed to keep a slave, and any slaves found there, or brought there, were automatically freed. It had made him very popular among some more progressive Telvanni, but traditionalists, mainly people relying on the slave trade for their income, had voiced objections. Two even went so far as to come to Tel Naga and loudly demand Baladas either remove himself from Sadrith Mora, or learn to live with slavery, as it was part of the Telvanni way. He’d known for a while that those two had been ignoring his orders and were still trading slaves, almost under his very nose. He still smiled when he thought back to that moment, after the Mers had made their demands, and he had smiled and simply asked them if they realised death was also the Telvanni way. He had them beheaded, then he put their bodies inside the cells at the now defunct slave market, and had posted their heads on spikes at the entrance to Sadrith Mora with a simple sign saying <i>Slaves are free; anyone wishing to object should feel free to visit Tel Naga any day. </i>No more objections had risen after that incident.

As he looked out the window now, he saw many men crowding the open space of the town.. Dunmer, Khajiit and Argonians side by side, but also some Bretons, Imperials, Nords and even a few Bosmer, Altmer and Orcs. They were all training. Gathering his forces had proven easy. Getting them ready was an entirely different matter. Many of the former slaves were not inexperienced with small weapons like knives and dirks, but getting them to become good enough to be effective in a real battle would prove an entirely different matter. His men were training the less experienced ones, but Baladas had no idea how long he had until they would be forced to see action. Fortunately, what they lacked in training, they made up for in enthusiasm and spirit. Though how well that would serve them, pitted against an experienced army such as that of house Redoran, or house Indoril, Baladas did not care to think about.

“Magister, it is time.” Baladas woke from his ponderings to see a servant standing at the door; he’d asked to be alerted at 6. He was expected at Tel Fyr in a few moments. “Thank you, Daral.” Smoothing out his robes, he cast the spell, and was once again standing before the entrance to Tel Fyr. It was quiet as usual, not having any retainers for himself, gave Divayth the benefit of rest. Baladas made his way up to the Tower of Tel Fyr, and there, as expected, were the same three people he had seen when he came here last. They were, however, seated a bit differently this time. They’d left him a seat to the right of the robed figure, at his right hand, a position of honor. He sat down, uncomfortable next to this stranger, and waited for Divayth to take the lead.

“Welcome Baladas. Obviously everything you hear tonight cannot go beyond these walls. I believe you’ve met Dhaunayne several times before, yes? Good. That saves some introductions. The person you’re sitting next to, however, must remain nameless for now. Even to you. He will reveal himself in due time. Right, let’s cut right to the chase, shall we? As I said at the great meeting, we plan to erect a new Ghostfence that will separate our lands from the rest of Morrowind. Why? So none can interfere with us ever again, and we will be left to ourselves as we prefer. Now,” Divayth stood up and picked up a steel tablet from a cabinet which he laid in the center of the table. With a small wave of his hand, a map of Morrowind appeared, outlining the five Great Houses and their respective borders. “Now Baladas, as you can see, Telvanni holds quite a bit of land, but very erratic borders. We mean to correct that before we place the Ghostfence. We mean to claim all the lands east of the foyada Bani-Dad, including Dagon Fel to the north and the entire Sheogorad region. From the foyada south a bit, and everything east of Ald’Ruhn. Then along the foyada Mamaea, again everything east of that, which is the Molag Amur region. We will also take Suran, and everything east of it. From Suran, we mean to draw our border south for a bit, and then south east, incorporating lands as far as Dervon’s Watch, and ending just to the north of the island of Gorn.”

As Divayth had been speaking, the border he described had appeared on the map. With the border done, Baladas looked down and saw the region described by Divayth was fully one quarter of Morrowind, perhaps a bit more even. How could the Telvanni ever plan to hold such a large region? With the Ghostfence in place maybe, but until it was up there was no way they were strong enough to both keep that area, and defend it against the combined force of four Great Houses. He assumed his face had betrayed his emotions because Divayth went on.

“Now I realise this looks very ambitious, but I assure you we can manage it. You see, House Telvanni will not stand alone in this. As you can see, Dhaunayne is here as well. Clan Aundae will stand with us, and even those vampires beyond Clan Aundae. Would you care to explain it yourself, Dhaunayne?”

“Delighted, Divayth,” came the creepy voice of Dhaunayne, “Thanks to our mysterious friend here, Clan Aundae will soon be the only Vampire Clan left in Morrowind. He has devised an ingenious spell which can actually turn the allegiance of a Vampire. Once cast on a Berne or Quarra, they will become loyal to me and will remain that way until the end of time. I plan to start tonight at Druscashti. I have gathered all of my children, and will assault Druscashti. We will bewitch all of the vampires there, while I kill Vomina Quarra and drink her blood. I’ve heard Quarra blood is so precious that she even bottles some of it. I mean to try it for myself.” At this last, she licked her lips, “The night after, we will visit Galom Daeus, where we will do the same to Raxle Berne. And on the third night, we will do again the same for all the minor vampire tombs of our competition. The end will leave Clan Aundae with more then enough manpower to aid the Great House Telvanni anywhere they should need it.”

Woah, this is absolutely racing along, there's barely time to take a breath there's so much happening. Plot twists, deception, confusion... it's all looking very interesting - if there's one thing I can say for certain it's that I don't know what's coming next.

All in all, a very good read so far, and I'm looking forwards to the next installment.

As much as Helseth seems despicable so far Telvanni warlords, no matter how 'benevolent' their goals seem, aren't doing anything really to appear more humanitarian. Securing their lands? Nice enough. Stealing the land from other 2 houses on the island with the aid of vampires? Machiavellian. Also, what will become of Ashlander tribes who will trapped within the new Ghostfence? "Oh, so sorry, you are now a part of our mini-empire. Should you not like it in here with us, you have two choices: we will forcibly relocate you via Magical Train or..." [fill in the blanks with more heads].

They aren't benevolent people, they never were. Freeing slaves won't make an ***hole be any less of an ***hole. Events might turn out as a bloodbath involving hirelings of ***holes on all sides.

Another amusing fact: Ghostfence can't [and in fact, it didn't ] stop people with levitation spells; same goes for coastal region and individuals who have Water Breathing readied... now, imagine a strike force, well equipped and prepared, with enough solutions ready for any scenario, coming out of the blue sea right behind Sadriht Mora. No big deal, only a regiment of Redoran honor guards, with decent supply of defenses against magical attacks. 4 hours later, if they don't have anything else but "Burn to the ground and retreat" as orders, there won't be much left of that city. Same goes for any coastal stronghold that Telvanni have.

In any case, I doubt that the Redorans or Hlaalu will just sit idly while Telvanni are attempting to take over their land, including the best brothel in the entire Vvardenfell.

Hehe, well I don't like it myself if a story I'm reading seems to be going real slow and drawing things out, so I wrote as I enjoy stories I read myself

And thanks, thanks to you and thanks to everyone else for the great comments so far, I really enjoy reading all of them, and I'm loving the fact that people like this.

Thank you

Hehe, I absolutely love reading your theories Mil, really enjoy it

(So as a note to everyone else, please don't hesitate to post your theories, or pm them to me, I'd love to hear them, though I can't promise I'll explain things or get into it too much )

As to your post Mil, of course I wouldn't presume to know what Magister Fyr is thinking there, but perhaps they've found ways to counter levitation going above the ghostfence? I mean someone who can create a spell that can turn the allegiance of a Vampire could possibly do more. Pure speculation there though

And as to the redoran troops, perhaps the Telvanni are simply planning to wipe all the other houses out? I mean the Imperials certainly are in no state to interfere in local politics with all the trouble they're in. But again, that's pure speculation on my part

Baladas thought about what he had just heard. “A bold move, and it will give you plenty of manpower indeed, men and women who are next to useless during the day.”

“Right you are,” Divayth said, “Which is why we need more men. We will also be joined by the Ashlanders.”

“Ashlanders? Why they have no more love for the Telvanni then they had for the Tribunal.”

“Again, you are correct, Baladas; however, since they have no more love for the temple than they have for us, they will be more then willing if we provide them with a way to become independent for all time. That, and the fact that we will give them the Grazelands, save Tel Vos and Vos of course. And we have one thing no one else has that will assure us of the Ashlanders assistance, and you’re sitting next to him.”

Baladas looked to his left, and asked himself who this figure could be that would be so easily able to ensure an alliance the Ashlanders. Perhaps some mythical figure, a god, or simply a very powerful wizard. Divayth spoke again, “In two days time, not tomorrow night but the day after, Master Aryon will take the forces of Vos, Tel Vos and Tel Mora and head north to occupy Dagon Fel. I do not expect much resistance from them, and I will make sure the spies of other houses and the empire are imprisoned, or should they resist, they will die. One Wizard lord will be stationed there with a garrison and that will be the end of that. I want you to take the forces of Sadrith Mora, Tel Aruhn and Tel Uvirith to Ghostgate. Don’t attack them; instead present the head of the temple with this.” Divayth took a scroll out of one of the drawers of his cabinet and presented it to Baladas. It carried the wax seal of the temple. “Ask to see the head of the temple, hand him this, and Ghostgate will not raise a finger against you. And finally, I will take the men of Tel Branora and Port Telvannis and go through Molag Mar and then take Suran.”

“And,” Baladas said, “You’re going to give the temple head of Molag Mar another sealed scroll, I assume, and they will simply bow down before you?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice as he asked.

“Yes,” came the reply, “they might not bow, but at least they will not oppose me.” Divayth seemed awfully sure of himself; what did he know that he wasn’t telling? The plan seemed sound; they would likely establish the new borders, at least those on Vvardenfall, in a single night, but that did not explain how he meant to get the mainland parts, nor how he meant to defend it. But Baladas assumed no answer would be forthcoming that day.
“Very well; I will make sure my men are ready the day after tomorrow.”

Divayth looked pleased at that and said, “Good. And then there is one more small thing. Two days after the attack, I want you to go to Vivec, and see Eno Hlaalu, Grandmaster of the Morag Tong. He will give you something; examine it carefully and keep it safe. When next you hear from me, take the item to Ald’Ruhn and show it to Athyn Sarethi. You saved his son, so he owes you a life; at least you will be able to leave the town with your life intact, but I believe you will leave with a great deal more than that.”

It seemed that with each sentence Fyr spoke, more questions arose. Sealed scrolls for the temple heads, something from the Morag Tong to deliver to the Grandmaster of the Redoran by a Magister of House Telvanni. Stranger things might have happened, but for the life of him, Baladas could not remember any.

Everything after that was merely repetition, the hammering out of details and some assuring words. It was well after midnight when both Baladas and Dhaunayne left. She to vanquish or subvert the Quarra, he back to Sadrith Mora. As he lay in his bed that night, staring at the top of the Tel, he found it hard to get to sleep. He realised, with the course House Telvanni was taking, there would only be two possible outcomes of this, complete victory, or eradication of their house.

"And we have one thing no one else has that will assure us of the Ashlanders assistance, and you’re sitting next to him.”

Oh, really? I'm getting a (possibly far fetched) crazy idea here. Vampiric undead, sorcery... Is everyone who we think is dead, actually dead? If these powerful sorceror's can change the allegiance of a vampire, can they bring the dead back to life? After all, who could guarantee the ashlander tribes assistance, than one who had maybe been granted a, erm, specific title?

Of course, I could be barking up the wrong tree. Or just barking mad

See what this story is doing to me? I'm turning into one of those conspiracy theory nuts

Hehe, interesting theory, but if that's the case, then I wonder how you would explain him being in two places at the same time. That is a body being cared for in Ebonheart, and at the same time Baladas being in Tel Fyr and speaking to Divayth, Dhaunayne and that guy already present.

hmm...............................

On the other hand, and mind you this is again just stating some facts, Ashlanders are known to worship their ancestors, and daedric gods. Especially Azura, Boethiah and Mephala.
hm......

And of course there's always the possibility of an impostor isn't there? Either pretending to be lord Nerevar, or Azura, or whomever.

Or all of that could be entirely incorrect. Boy, I hope that Alexander guy finishes the story soon and gives us the answers neh.

*Back to the drawing board*

I'm not sure that I want that, erm, Alexander guy, to finish the story too soon. As much as I'm looking forward to a resolution, I'm rather enjoying the current journey of confusion

Well, I wouldn't worry about that. I just checked and right now we're going on page 45, the story has 109 pages so we're not even half way there yet

Great, even more Morrowind goodness awaits us then. To say that the plot has thickened would be an understatement. Vampires, mysterious robed guys of immense power, a replica Ghostfence. What's next? Vivec and Almalexia coming back from the dead to claim what was once theirs? Seeing the rate that Fyr is spewing out wild plans, it wouldn't be surprising.

Big stuff happening here though I'm fascinated to know what scroll could possibly make the temple abandon Molag Mar. And thats a lot of magic they're planning - I can see other forces opposing it, Hlaalu have a lot of money, I can see them buying some magical help here.

I really like how there aren't really any good people, Helseth is pretty unpleasant, the Telvanni are planning on killing a good few and going on a conquest, Varvur seems to have been mislead into doing the Morag Tong's business for them.

Even better is how the different leaders all sit at the cerntre of great webs and all think they're ahead of and/or using all the others. Brilliant.

Seeing as Hlaalu's got a lot of wealth, I think Helseth will buy off the Mages Guild and Fighters Guild so as to counter the magical influence of the Telvanni. At least, I remember from Morrowind that the Telvanni and the Mages Guild didn't really get on with each other. It would be a pretty obvious move if you ask me.

Chapter 10. Stranger in a strange land.

Cyrodiil, largest province of the empire and home to the Emperor, the Imperial palace and the Imperial city. And that was where Varvur found himself now, staring up at the gates that gave entrance to the greatest city known to civilization. It stretched out as far as the eye could see, and was home to thousands of people. Here was one city that was most definitely many times larger then Vivec. Even standing outside the gates one could hear the noise of the crowds.

Varvur’s trip to the Imperial City had been uneventful; he had been able to travel with a large caravan heading out of Kragenmoor. He’d joined it as a guard, something no caravan could ever have too many of. The pace hadn’t been as fast as Varvur would have liked, but at least he could be sure of a good cover story for being there, and no trouble with anyone along the way.

What greeted him just beyond the gate was the Talos Plaza district. Named after the old Emperor Tiber Septim, believed to have become divine himself and risen as the god Talos. It was getting very late, so Varvur decided to find a place to sleep for now and start his search on the morrow. Though with such a large place he had no idea where to start looking. Unlike the inns, his quest did not have convenient signs to point the way.

Varvur took a room at the Tiber Septim hotel. While he slept for a few hours, he found himself wide awake again in the middle of the night. Something had woken him, perhaps a dream. He faintly recalled hearing a loud booming voice warning him to leave Cyrodiil with all haste lest he never be able to leave alive. Feeling hungry, Varvur slowly stood up, dressed himself and went into the dining room to see if there might be an early breakfast for him. Thinking back to the dream he had to admit he was more shaken then he’d care to say. Something about that voice really gave him the creeps.

Varvur was lucky- there was indeed some food to be found in the dining room, and it seemed he wasn’t alone. In front of the fireplace he saw a kindly old man- no, not just a man, a Legionnaire it would seem. At least he was wearing Legion armour, though of an old-fashioned kind. The man himself looked to be very old, balding with grey hair on the back of his head and on the sides. He was staring into the flames, likely thinking of times long past. Varvur turned and sat at the table; there was some fresh bread to be had, as well as an assortment of sweets.

“Did you have trouble sleeping, young master Sarethi?”

Varvur looked up; the man had spoken though he was still sitting with his back to him. Somewhere in his mind he was wondering how the man could know his name, but he found himself answering all the same,

“Yes, I had a bad dream; it’s starting to fade already though.”

“Heh, bad dreams. Yes some people inhabit our dreams to try and dissuade us from doing what we must. Don’t worry about it, though. If people were really that confident about themselves, they wouldn’t have the need to send us dreams, now would they? They’d simply be here themselves.”

Varvur thought about that, and found it made a lot of sense.

“So,” the old man continued, “what brings you to this fair city?”

For a reason Varvur didn’t understand, he did not reply with the cover story he’d been thinking of but answered honestly.

“I’ve come in search of my late master’s killer. His assassin isn’t here but someone that can lead me to him or her is most likely somewhere in this city. Fafnir he’s called. You wouldn’t by chance know where I could find him, old man?”

The old man looked at Varvur, smiling. He had the nicest eyes Varvur had ever seen.

“Well young lad, there’s no chance involved, but yes I would happen to know where to find Fafnir. He does indeed live in this city. And even comes into this hotel from time to time.”

“Then please, old man, tell me where to find him.” Varvur excitedly exclaimed.

“Hm, I think I will now, however, the question you need to ask yourself, Varvur, is: Are you willing to pay the price for the information? I can lead you to Fafnir, and beyond him you will find your answers, but I require a favour in return. Are you willing to repay me that favour?”

“Yes, if you can lead me to lord Nerevar’s killers, I promise I will do whatever you ask of me.”

“Be careful what you say there, young master Sarethi. You never know if someone might not take advantage of it. But it is good of you to promise. Very well, it is not for me you need to do something, but you will meet someone in a few days time. He will ask you for a very large service, not just killing someone, not just a bit of money; no, this is a service of the most serious kind. If you promise me that you will do this service for him, then I will give you the information you want. And don’t worry, what he asks you can wait until after you’ve uncovered the answers to your questions.”

Varvur replied after a moment in thought, “I accept.”

“Good, very good. The man you’re looking for lives in the market district, and often frequents the Merchants Inn there. He has his own house though, where you can find him. Ah, and please, have this.” The old man handed Varvur an ancient-looking coin.

“I reckon it’s not worth much anymore, but it should help you remember your promise, wouldn’t you agree? Young men these days so swiftly forget things.”

“But I promised, old man, and I won’t forget my promise. I will repay this man’s favour, whomever he may be.”

“ Good, that is good of you, Varvur. Now, I think these old bones are ready to give sleeping one more try. Good night, master Sarethi, may you be blessed in your travels.”

Just as the old man was walking out of the door, Varvur called after him, “But sir, you never told me your name.” He wasn’t sure if the old man had heard, but he thought he heard a whisper of “Wulf” as the door closed.

Aah, Wulf. One of my favourite npc's in Morrowind - back when I was playing the game and didn't have the internet. Getting that coin, getting that new power - and having that lightning bolt of realisation (I'm fairly certain I even exclaimed a loud satisfied OOOH at the time). Priceless moment.

And with the big players all in, Helseth, Fyr all the Great Houses, The Morag Tong... now perhaps the biggest of them all is guiding young Varvur along, just as he did with The Neravarine years before.

Bloody good update Al!!

You are weaving a very nice and engaging plot here. I can't wait to see the dam burst!

Varvur must have gone back to bed after that, because he woke in the morning to a nice warm sun shining outside. He remembered his conversation very vividly, but wondered if it hadn’t just been a dream? That is until he pulled his trousers on and felt an old iron coin in his right pocket, just where he’d put it last night. Smiling to himself, he dressed further and headed out into the city. He didn’t have to ask around a lot to be pointed to the Merchants Inn. He went inside and ordered a glass of wine. Not everyone in the inn looked entirely respectable, so he thought it best not to pronounce to the world that he was a noble. And in his rough travel clothing and with all the armour and weapons, he knew he could easily pass for a mercenary. Looking around the room he saw a number of other people, a few Nords, some Bretons, mostly Imperials though, no Khajiit or Argonians and only a few Redguards. It didn’t take him long to find the man he was looking for. In the corner there were a few rowdy Nords, one of which was called Fafnir by his friends.

It was early in the afternoon, yet already it appeared most of the Nords were drunk. Appeared to be, because Varvur saw that with Fafnir, most of the meed seemed to somehow wind up either on his clothes, or in the plant standing next to him. One had to really look carefully to see it, but to Varvur is was clear this Fafnir was not nearly as drunk as he wanted others to believe. While he was laughing with the others, his eyes were constantly looking around, taking in every part of his surroundings.

Varvur made sure to keep his head down, and never to look directly at Fafnir. He knew it would be best to simply wait until Fafnir went away, so that he might follow him home and question him there. It took a few hours, but around supper time Fafnir announced to his friends that he was going home. Varvur waited until he was outside, then payed his tab and followed him. As he got outside, he was just in time to see Fafnir round a corner on his right. Slowly and quietly following him, he cautiously looked around the corner, and saw Fafnir opening his door. Varvur slowly crept forward and then sprinted the last few yards so that just as Fafnir was closing the door again, Varvur threw all his weight at it and flung himself inside. Fafnir stumbled back with a look of surprise on his face. He was clearly not expecting someone. Varvur closed the door, and shut the latch. He wanted to be sure no one would disturb him in his conversation with Fafnir.

Fafnir roared, and from the wall he picked up a wicked looking warhammer. It was all white with a head that had ridges on it. Anyone hit with that thing would likely not survive, so Varvur knew had to make sure to avoid the Nord’s wild swings. . He drew his own blade, but feared it would not be enough to stop the heavy hammer. Therefore, he also grabbed a round wooden shield hanging on the wall next to the door. Armed with sword and shield, he stepped into the living room. Fafnir smartly stayed in that room, his warhammer would be next to useless in a small room, but in here he could swing it as much as he’d like. He started by swinging it over his head, gaining speed with every rotation, round and round still faster and then aimed it at Varvur, who was just barely able to get the shield in front of him. Varvur felt his entire arm ringing from that one blast and realized how lucky it was that he had grabbed the shield; he could only imagine how his arm would have looked had the warhammer connected with it. The two men circled each other, Varvur getting a few blows in, a small scratch on an arm, a slice at a leg, all small wounds which had Fafnir bleeding, but it seemed there was no slowing him down. He kept swinging the warhammer and at times aimed it at Varvur. After a few blows, the shield was ready to be tossed aside. It would likely not survive another blow. Varvur had to think fast. Just then he saw that Fafnir was extending his hand again for what might have been a killing blow, but Varvur used all of his speed, moving not away from Fafnir but nearer to him, and turning just a bit, he brought his sword arm down with lightning speed.

Fafnir cried out in pain and in shock, and Varvur took the moment to aim yet another blow at him, though this time he hit him with he hilt of the blade, as hard as he could on the back of his head. Fafnir slumped down, his right hand still clutching the stump of his left wrist, while next to him lay his mighty warhammer with his left hand still holding it. Fafnir was bleeding heavily, and Varvur knew he’d best treat that if he wanted to be able to ask Fafnir some questions. He lit the fireplace as fast as he could, using his own inner magic to bring the fire faster then it might have otherwise. Once a bed of coals was glowing in the grate, Varvur took a blade hanging from one of the walls and put it into the fire. When it glowed red with heat, he picked up Fafnir’s left wrist , and held the red hot blade against it, using the heat to close the wound.

After Varvur was sure the wound was closed, he bound Fafnir’s arms behind him and his legs together, then went to look through his home. He found very little of use, and no information, though there were some black Mallams in a top room, and he also discovered a hidden hatch on the ground floor, leading to a small basement. From the looks of it, the basement had been often used as torture chamber. There was a bolted down steel chair in the center of the room, a fireplace, and all sorts of needles, pliers, pins, knives and things Varvur did not even have a name for. It also seemed the room was well isolated and that little to no noise would escape once the hatch was carefully sealed. Varvur knew it would not be easy to get information from Fafnir, but was determined to do whatever it took. He carried Fafnir down into the basement, seated him on the chair and first untied his legs. He retied them with the steel bands attached to the chair, which went around his lower legs and ensured that he would not be able to free himself once the pin was inserted into the lock. Then came his hands; one could be locked in a steel band around the wrist, but Varvur had to use some supple leather to bind Fafnir’s left arm to the chair. And last there was a leather band that went around his neck to keep his head upright.

Varvur started a fire in the fireplace there, and then went to look at some potions standing on a plank above some pliers. They had clear descriptions on them for what they did. Some were used to keep people conscious no matter how much pain they were feeling, others were to inflict pain, to wake someone up or to put someone to sleep. He chose a small bottle that woke someone up, and mixed it with a potion that would keep Fafnir conscious, and forced it into him. Fafnir woke almost at once, shouted curses and did his best to get out of the chair, but of course it did not work. He threatened to kill Varvur once he got out, and all of his family, and much more. Varvur just let him shout a while to tire himself out. Then he hit him across the face.
“Tell me what L.L. stands for and you’ll save yourself a lot of trouble, Fafnir.”

“I will never betray the Brotherhood; you’ll need to kill me first before I betray my brothers.”

“Tell me Fafnir, how many people have you taken here to torture? How many unsuspecting people came to an end here? I imagine you have lost count yourself. But even knowing that, I’ll give you more choice then you likely ever gave them. Speak now, tell me who L.L. is, and where I can find him, and I’ll end your life swiftly. Don’t tell me, and I’ll be forced to make you speak.”

Fafnir said nothing at that, he only glared at Varvur and then spit in his face.

“Very well,” Varvur said with a determined look. He started by taking a few needles he’d put into the fire, and slowly inserted one underneath each nail of Fafnir’s remaining fingers. Unfortunately he got no answers then, not even when he cut off 5 toes one after another, not when he made an incision in his stomach, and used a hot knife to slowly cut away some inner muscles one small piece at a time. It wasn’t until he started on Fafnir’s groin that he finally got the answers he was looking for. By then Fafnir was only still awake due to the potion. If not for that, then he would have been long unconscious from pain. Varvur did keep his word though; after Fafnir had given him the answers he needed, he used a sharp blade to cut his throat. When he did it he could almost see gratitude in Fafnir’s eyes. And with it, after some gurgles, the screaming stopped.

Varvur felt very dirty. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to use such methods to get someone to speak; sometimes there was simply no other way to get information, but it was something he had never gotten used to. He slowly, as if in trance, stumbled up the stairs into the kitchen, and threw up in a bucket. He cried himself to sleep that night, sleeping in Fafnir’s bed. He knew he needed sleep before going on. After he woke he dressed, and went up to the top chamber. Fafnir had been clear, the man L.L. was called Lucien- he did not know the last name. To contact him, Fafnir would release one of the black ravens in his loft, with a small note attached to the leg that read only a single letter. F. Three days later, he would have to be sure to be sleeping in a room in Pell’s gate, a tavern a ways south of the Imperial City, just beyond the old bridge, and there Lucien would wake him.

After he let the raven out, he wanted to get out of this house as soon as he could. He took all of his own things, making sure to leave Fafnir’s items there, and got out of the house. As he stepped outside, a small patrol of guards was walking past, they looked at him, and as one drew their blades and pointed them at him.

“Halt citizen,” they loudly proclaimed, ”drop your weapons and then don’t move.”

Not understanding what was happening, Varvur still complied. Two of the guards went inside Fafnir’s house, while the other three stood guard over Varvur. As Varvur was wondering what was wrong, he looked down, and saw what the guards had also noticed, that his boots were still covered in blood. And naturally the two guards who had entered the house came back out, and told the others that they had found a body inside, terribly mutilated.

As Varvur was taken to jail, all he could think about was Pell’s gate, and meeting Lucien there. If he didn’t make it, all would be for naught.

So Varvur isn't afraid to get his hands dirty when the situation calls for it eh? I liked this update very much. But still, with the Martin references.

The raven was a dead give-away. Detailing the methods Varvur used to torture Fafnir was...well gruesome but I believe that was the intended purpose of that paragraph. It also gave a feeling of despair and uselessness however, since Fafnir seemed not to be affected by any of it. Great work. I like the chapters featuring Varvur, since they're somewhat more personal than the ones with Baladas or Helseth.

Well, I guess Varvur is my version of a hero character, a local boy, not privy to all the plotting and wars and backstabbing and whatnot going on, who finds himself in situations he wasn't prepared for. I mean he's no ancient powerful wizard, he's not a king with several great houses and thousands of people behind him, he's just one boy, dishonored for letting his charge be killed and struggling to find the answers to this puzzle that is the poisoning.

You know, I really enjoyed writing about all the characters I wrote, from their standpoints. Varvur as I described above, being in the black, not knowing anything and yet being taken advantage of by people, or at least people trying to use him.

Baladas, a powerful Wizard, of course I think most people know how much I myself enjoy playing such a character, but at the same time he doesn't know any more then the rest of us and right now anyway, finds himself in the same situation as Varvur, where there are tons of people plotting and he can only stand by and look at it, and be used.

And Helseth, you know I never play a truly evil character in any of my games, it simply doesn't appeal to me. But for some reason I loved writing about Helseth. In a way I can make him do all the things I'd never do myself, all the things no one would ever do because people are too decent to do them, but when you have a character with no scruples, it's liberating really.

Personally though when I look at the characters and have to choose my favorite characters, two stand out. One is someone you've all met already, the unknown person underneath the black hooded robe. And two is someone you'll meet a couple chapters from here. I don't want to spoil anything, but those two are my own personal favorites.

Chapter 11. Assault.

The past days had been booming with rumors. The ranking Hlaalu noble, Crassius Curio, had been murdered in his own home. The perpetrator, at least according to official sources, had fled the scene of the crime, observed by another nobleman of that same house. Baladas thought it unlikely Dram Bero would have ever harmed Crassius Curio, so someone must want to make Dram look bad, but why? Perhaps the answer would come to him. Helseth had been named the new head of the Hlaalu.

He had been busy as well. He’d taken his forces, passed by Tel Aruhn to gather those men and then gone on down to Tel Uvirith where they would be leaving very soon. Reynel Uvirith could only be called odd, even for a Telvanni. She had been born with a different last name, that of one of the previous masters of House Telvanni. That master had been killed when she was quite young, barely out of her teens. She responded to the killing in typical Telvanni fashion, by killing the killers. Everyone had expected her to assume the newly vacated position, but instead she told them they could keep it. She was last seen boarding a ship that sailed for Akavir. What she did there was known to no one, but when she returned many years later, she had changed. Not on the outside; she still looked very much the same as when she left, only older, but rumors were floating around that she’d studied magic with famed Akaviri Wizards. Magic was done differently in Akavir and they also used very different spells. Rumors told of impossible feats of magic perpetrated on the Akaviri continent, feats never before seen on Tamriel and feats no Tamrielic wizard could ever hope to copy.

She returned to Sadrith Mora one day, officially joined house Telvanni, and rose through the ranks like a meteor. Until she reached the rank of Wizard, that is. Then she declared herself content. She moved out here, into the barren Molag Amur region, had her Tel constructed at the site of a long dead Telvanni figure and took his last name. From then on she almost always wore a hooded black robe, and Baladas was not alone in feeling uncomfortable when he was around her. But the most astonishing thing had come later. She planted a small seed near the edge of Uvirith’s Grave, and while every one of her servants assumed the seed would never grow, it did. It grew into a magnificent tree. And around the tree what had always been barren land grew to be a meadow. The larger the tree grew, the larger the meadow grew, and right now it stretched for about two miles in every direction from Tel Uvirith. It formed an oasis among the Barren rocks.

When asked about it, Reynel would always say she got the seed as a gift from a great Akaviri Warlord. It came from a gigantic tree located in the center of the Akavir continent, that was believed to be the physical form of the god Epyon. While not much was known about him, those who were familiar with him knew he always brought joy to a room, and perhaps that would explain the meadow where once no life could grow. It was also said by Reynel that he made for an excellent chess opponent, but Baladas frowned at that. “A tree playing chess? Now I’ve heard everything.”

In front of the Tel, the troops were massing. Baladas knew, however, that they were far too few if it came to a fight over Ghostgate. With only two ways inside, and long, narrow, Velothi-style corridors beyond, he knew he needed an army far larger then this if he had to take it by force. He was hoping the sealed scroll would do what Divayth had promised it would. Destroying Ghostgate was simply not an option; the strategic value of a fort at that place was simply too great to destroy.

The journey to Ghostgate proved uneventful; there wasn’t much but stone and rock between Tel Uvirith and Ghostgate, and the host crossed the mountain range using levitation spells, or potions and scrolls for those who were unable to cast spells themselves. At the other side of the range the host regrouped and marched to Ghostgate in formation.

When they came into view, Baladas bid halt to his army and took only two of his retainers with him as he walked on. He left Reynel Uvirith behind in charge of the army, and in the sleeve of his robe, he felt the sealed scroll. He entered the Tower of Dawn, and crossed it to the Ghostgate temple. Inside he found Rilvase Avani, the ranking priest in Ghostgate.

She looked at him, and went to shout for the Armigers when she saw him reach into his sleeve. But when she saw it was only a scroll she seemed to change her mind. She reached for the scroll and Baladas saw her carefully examining the seal. Probably checking to see if it was genuine. She broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. It did not take long to read. She then looked up, straight at Baladas, then at the scroll again and lowered it.

“So, war is coming is it?” she asked him.

“Yes, it would appear so.”

She gestured for an aide to approach and told him, “Go to both towers; tell all of our Armigers that we’re about to receive many guests. Make sure they understand their duty and stay their weapons whenever our guests are around. They are to take no action. Understood?” When the aide had confirmed the orders, she gestured for him to leave and see to it.

Then she turned back to Baladas and asked, “Do you know what you hold here, Telvanni?”

“No, actually I did not read the scroll; what does it say?”

“It has but a single line: ‘Remember your oath, the old and the new’.”

Baladas had no idea what she was getting at, and it must have shown for she continued,

“When lord Nerevar vanquished Dagoth Ur and was awarded dominion of Morrowind, he held a meeting with all the high members of the Temple. In it he told us he wanted to make sure the Temple would never again get involved with a conflict internally in Morrowind. During the time of his return, we nearly cost lord Nerevar his life twice; once by keeping information from him, and the second time by proclaiming him false incarnate and declaring his life forfeit. He made us swear oaths that we would never again be involved in any conflict within Morrowind. And he made us swear that everyone not present at the meeting would swear the same oath, and last he made us add that new oath to the oath new priests take. You see, even if we wanted to, we could not oppose you, nor anyone else. From now on, we are always neutral.”

The enormity of that statement hit Baladas. If the Temple remained neutral, then three cities would remain neutral: Ghostgate, Molag Mar and Vivec. All three were governed by the Temple through their Buoyant Armigers. Divayth had been right all along; both Ghostgate and Molag Mar would not oppose them. While that did not help them should they face attack by other Great Houses, it would at least keep the Temple out of the way. This was certainly a good thing.

The plot thickens. I like the darker side you showed to Varvur, and that he commited the crime and was caught. Great stuff, I wander how he'll escape.

So old Fyr's ploys finally come into play. Brilliant turn of events there, allowing the Temple null involvement in the events to come. I really wasn't expecting but I understand the need for such an oath. Great twist you have there. Keep up the great work!

The next few days were spent settling in at Ghostgate. Some of the men went back to Tel Uvirith with orders to come only when needed, but nearly half of the men stayed at Ghostgate. It was a tight fit, but after they had “persuaded” the Redorans present there to vacate, they were all able to just fit in. It was also the day Baladas was going to Vivec to see Eno Hlaalu.

There were very few secrets left in Vivec not known to the Telvanni; they’d known about the Headquarters of the Morag Tong there for many years. He had no intention of making a scene. He knew that yesterday, Divayth Fyr had visited king Helseth in Mournhold to announce the Telvanni claims to Suran and Dagon Fel, and the different regions on Vvardenfall they had conquered, and Baladas knew that after that, things would really come to a head. He didn’t know how much the other houses knew already, or had found out by now, so he was glad the Telvanni compound was right next to the arena.

He decided to stop by Mavon Drenim on his way to the Arena. Mavon Drenim was the ranking noble of house Telvanni inside Vivec and would likely face quite a challenge; staying put in a place surrounded by enemies was not a task Baladas envied him for. Even though he was only a spellwright, few could match Mavon’s skill in conjuration. He’d studied under Felen Maryon, who was undoubtedly Telvanni’s leading conjuration expert, and few mages in their right mind would ever consider facing either Felen Maryon or one of his pupils.

A tall Mer, especially for Dunmer standards, Mavon’s upright hair made him appear taller still. He always carried a Wizards staff with a wicked Fire enchantment on it, and he looked very impressive indeed.

“Hail Magister Demnevanni. What brings you to our fair city this day?”

“Just wanted to make sure you haven’t been experiencing any problems, Mavon. No one has tried anything here yet have they?”

“Actually Magister, they did. Quite a few Hlaalu tried to come after us yesterday, but the new guards of Vivec, the Buoyant Armigers, stopped them. I guess the temple is determined to remain neutral as they vowed.”

“Well, that’s a positive thing in any case. Is there anything more you need, Mavon? Anything we need to supply you with?”

“No thank you Magister; we’ve been managing on our own for many years, and we’ve never had to rely on other parts of Vivec and don’t now either. We’ll be just fine, don’t worry about us Magister.” Having reassured himself, Baladas took his leave and went to the Arena Storage area, which had for many years held the entrance to the headquarters of the Morag Tong. There was already a thrall waiting for him, and he was admitted straight away. He’d met Eno once before, that time while he was visiting lord Nerevar and Eno had come by, spoken to lord Nerevar for a brief time and then left again. He’d never been this close before though, and couldn’t help but be impressed. For a non-magic wielder, Baladas knew Eno was one of the most dangerous men in Morrowind.

“Welcome Magister, how fare things? And please, when next you see them, pay my respects to Magister Fyr and your new Archmagister, would you?” With that one line Eno had left Baladas nearly stunned; somehow he knew things only members of the House were supposed to know. He knew both that there was a new head of House Telvanni and the fact that he was now a Magister rather then a Master. Impressive, to say the least proving that the rumors of Eno being the master of many whisperers must be correct after all then.

“Thank you Grandmaster. I fare well, and last time I saw them, the men you name as well.”
“Good to hear that Baladas. Now, Divayth tells me you’re here to pick up the special item, am I right?” Baladas simply nodded. It would not do for Eno to find out Divayth had not even bothered to tell him what he was supposed to pick up, let alone what to use it for. Being left in the dark was not something Baladas enjoyed.

“Right. Well, here it is.” Eno went to a drawer, and got a steel plaque out of it. It looked almost like a normal serving tray, but carved into the edge were many mystical signs. Though Baladas did not recognize any of them, he could clearly feel magic emanating from it.

“Now, Divayth also told me you are as yet unfamiliar with this, so please allow me to demonstrate.”

“This is an invention of Divayth’s, I’m told, and it holds a special type of magic that allows you to view things many miles away, sort of like a crystal ball, but far more accurately and it shows things in a much more detailed way. Another function of the artifact is the ability to remember things it has displayed. In this case, it has remembered some very interesting events from a few days ago, the day of the funeral, to be precise.”

Eno touched a few of the signs carved in the plate in a specific order, and in the center where there had first been simply polished steel, Baladas now saw a very clear picture of the inside of a manor. He recognized it straight away and became very interested. As the events unfolded in the picture, Baladas found himself smiling more and more, and as the picture ended, he laughed. Perhaps it really hadn’t been folly to think Telvanni could win this conflict. With what was on this plaque, at least one opponent could easily be neutralized. Eno smiled, for of course he’d known all along what was remembered on the plaque and knew how much it meant to House Telvanni. Baladas had no doubt that getting this plaque from Eno had cost Divayth a fortune, but if it did what Baladas assumed it would do, it would prove worth it many times over. Then a thought came to him.

“What I just saw, it is real? Or is it meant to fool someone?”

“I promise you,” came the reply, “everything seen and heard is genuine and truth.”

Reassured and with even more confidence, Baladas took the plaque, thanked Eno for his help and travelled back to Sadrith Mora.

Chapter 12. Unlikely choice.

Varvur was banging his cup against the bars of his cell and shouting for a guard to come. He’d been in the cell for a day and a night already and knew time was creeping up on him. He didn’t expect a guard to come, though; he’d been banging his cup against the bars for over an hour now, and no one had so much as checked on them. Yes, them. There was one other prisoner on this cellblock. It was obviously used for only the worst criminals. The man across from him appeared to be scum of the worst kind, dirty, with unkempt hair. And ironically enough, he was a fellow Dunmer, but from the threats and curses he threw at Varvur, one couldn’t tell. Looking around the cell, Varvur saw what he’d seen several times before already, that there was nothing that would help him escape. Naught but a few bones and a skull, a small table and a bucket to use as a privy. And his bed of course with the thin blanket. Nothing. Varvur sat down and put his head in his hands. It seemed hopeless.

A noise woke him from his ponderings, a loud noise. Someone was coming down the stairs, and from what he could hear there were several people.

“Come quickly, your highness, this way.”

“Hey,” a guard spoke to Varvur, “What are you doing here? There wasn’t supposed to be anyone here.”

“I’m sorry captain, I’d be happy to leave if I could.”

Then the man who had been called your highness came into view. Varvur had seen his picture of course, but still, seeing the man in front of him proved to be quite another experience. It was Uriel Septim, Emperor of Tamriel.

“You!” the emperor exclaimed in a voice that told of visiting many different lands, and even worlds, that had gone where few men had gone before.

“I’ve seen you in my dreams. What is your name?”

Varvur replied quietly, all the while keeping his eyes down. There was something strange happening here- he could read it in the tension of the guards posture, the way they held their swords. It would not do to have the guards decide it would be better to butcher him then leave a witness. One of them spoke,

“You prisoner, stand back.”

Varvur stood back as one of the guards opened the door to his cell. He considered rushing them and fighting his way out, but at that moment he noticed the blade hanging from the hip of the emperor. It was the blade of lord Nerevar; even if he could get past the guards, which he doubted, how could he leave the blade here? The guards were entering his cell, there were four of them, and the emperor. One of the guards pulled an innocent-looking chain, and to Varvur’s surprise, part of the wall moved out of the way.

The guards moved swiftly past him, but the last one, a Redguard, stopped for a moment to look at him.

“If you must, you can follow us, and you will be able to leave. But make sure to stay out of our way or I will kill you myself.”

Varvur nodded, indicating that he understood. The Redguard moved to follow the emperor and Varvur went into the tunnel after him.

It appeared to be a very old system of corridors, barely lit, and crumbling. It must have been the oldest part of the city. Luckily some of the guards were carrying torches, else they might not have been able to see anything. In front of them the corridor suddenly went to the right, and Varvur and the others found themselves in a small antechamber. One of the guards called a halt, claiming that he heard something. He slowly moved forward, carefully listening to the surroundings. Varvur heard the blade before he saw it, and cried out a warning but it was too late; the head of the front guard was already rolling away as his body crumpled to the floor. A number of men dressed in red cloaks came at them then. Several engaged the emperor and his guards, but one came at Varvur. The man swung his mace downward and Varvur moved out of the way just a in time. The mace now moved sideways, again straight for Varvur, but he was able to grab the arm of the man before it could connect. A swift tug on the arm had the man overbalanced and spinning to the floor, and it also left Varvur with the mace in his own hands. A swift blow to the head made sure the man would not get a second chance.

Varvur looked around, expecting to see more men, but the emperor’s guards had dealt with the other assailants. The emperor turned to look at him and said,

“Well now, I am glad to have you along. If it had not been for you, we might have been attacked from both sides. As you can see, my guards are already injured and we still have quite a ways to go. But tell me, I saw you looking at this blade; is it familiar to you?”

Varvur quickly explained to whom the blade had belonged and how he came to have it.

“Really, lord Nerevar is dead? These are troubled times indeed. Why I remember it as if it were yesterday when he was in the exact same cell as you just now. I had dreamt about him as well, so I let him go. Pardoned him of the crimes he probably never committed. Well, young Mer, I will tell you what we will do. If you help me get out of these Talos-forsaken tunnels, I will give you back the blade.”

He must have caught Varvur’s questioning look because he added,
“Well, I realise the blade is not mine to give away, but consider this- if we don’t get out of these tunnels, it will do no one any good, now will it?”

Varvur could not disagree with that logic, so he promised to help them. He did catch a mistrusting look from the Redguard, but then he’d made the agreement with the emperor, not the Redguard.

Before exiting the room after the guards, Varvur stopped to pick up the blade of the fallen guard. A katana, not very common in Morrowind, but his father had insisted he train with weapons even from outside the province. He admired the weight and balance for a second, finding that this was truly a magnificent weapon. As he considered everything that had occurred, he realised something he had been thinking of for a while now- the guards must be Blades. No normal guard would be able to afford such a fine blade. Hurrying along, he saw the guards had moved with haste to a door. The last guard to enter was the Redguard, though just before he entered, he turned back to face Varvur.

“This is where we part, Dunmer. We can’t have you trailing along, so you’d better find your own way out.”

And with that he closed the door on Varvur. And locked it. Judging from the thickness he’d seen when the door was open, there was no way Varvur could break through it. Looking over the walls of the room, he noticed a small opening on the right side.

Going down to his hands and knees, he crawled through the opening into the room beyond. It appeared to be part of a cave, the only finished wall on the side where he had come through and the rest naught but sand and roots. Quickly disposing of a few rats that came at him, and a zombie a small ways down, he tried to follow alongside the route the guards and emperor appeared to be taking. There really wasn’t much there, though he did find himself face to face with three goblins at one time. Morrowind wasn’t home to many of the creatures, especially not since an entire army of them, hiding in the sewers of Mournhold, had been destroyed by lord Nerevar, but their crude weapons and tactics proved no match for Varvur’s honed skills.

The sound of weapons clashing reached him, and hurrying on, he was just in time to see another Blade fall to an assassin. He also saw the remaining Blades were hard pressed, each fighting off two or even three assassins, he overlooked the scene from a ledge, and without hesitating, jumped down, taking down two of the Redguard’s assailants as he landed. He quickly got back up, and slashed with his blade, finishing one of the assassins. The other assassin tried to bash him with his mace, but Varvur simply jumped back and used the katana’s longer reach to slash the assassin’s midsection. It’s never a good idea to get involved with a weapon that has a longer range, not unless you’re either very fast, or very heavily armoured. By that time the other Blade had disposed of his attackers as well and came towards Varvur threateningly.

“No, stop it,” the emperor called. “You will not harm him. Can’t you see, he just saved the life of Baurus and you would repay him by taking his life?”

The Blade looked just a bit embarrassed at that and lowered his blade.

Well, I was just moaning (just a smidgeon) on TES about how cruel you are with all these cliffhangers, and then this. I'm very close to slapping my hand against my head. I can't believe it, I did NOT see that coming. Not only do we still not know what Baladas saw (grr!), or the identity of the hooded man (double grrr!), but then you completely throw me off course with this.

To use a posh word ( ) that was a beautiful segue, absolutely seamless. This story continues to impress, and is getting better and better. Though you're still a git

“Tell me,” the emperor continued, “do you believe in the Nine divines?”

What an odd question to ask at a time like this. Varvur considered, but not wanting to insult the emperor, he answered none the less.

“I do not, I worship my ancestors, but my father tells me I was born when the Steed constellation was at its brightest in many centuries.”

At that the emperor nodded, and gestured for the Blades to lead on. The next room proved empty. There was a corridor leading onwards and both Blades insisted on checking it before they went on. As soon as they were halfway through, the emperor once again turned to Varvur and spoke,

“Young Mer, my time grows short. Thankfully it shall not be long now. Please, take this amulet; it is the Amulet of Kings, and only the rightful heir to the throne may wear it and use it to thwart the efforts of the usurper. Please, take it and your lord Nerevar’s blade and find my loyal Blade, Jauffre, at Weynon Priory. He alone knows where to find the last heir of my line.” With that, the emperor handed him a huge amulet and the blade of Nerevar.

As Varvur considered those words, and the enormity of the task, he was not ready when a part of a wall suddenly slid open and an assassin emerged from it. The red-robed killer went straight for the emperor and slashed open his throat. Only when he advanced on Varvur did Varvur drop lord Nerevar’s blade and ready his katana. The assassin only had a knife, and Varvur a long blade, so no glory was earned during that fight.

After the assassin was dead, he heard a wail from behind him, and spun around, raising his blade. But then he lowered it again. Baurus has been the one to voice the wail. He clutched the body of his emperor and looked bereft. Varvur sought to comfort him and explained what the emperor had told him before he died. He also tried to offer the amulet to Baurus, thinking it was rightly the province of the Blades to care for the emperor’s relic.

“Thank the Nine; our work might not have been in vain after all. No, I thank you for trusting me with the amulet, but the emperor gave it to you; it is your destiny to aid the heir, not mine.”

Varvur followed Baurus to the exit, only stopping at the last dead Blade to pick up his armour. Robbing the dead wasn’t really something Varvur liked, but with no armour, his chances of surviving would be small. As they came to the exit, Baurus showed him a way to get outside the city at once, and promised to clear Varvur’s record so no guards would come after him, no matter what crime had been committed. Varvur followed the Blade’s directions, and went through a sewer gate.

Crawling through it, he found himself a little way to the south of the Imperial City. Looking at himself, he found he didn’t look as bad as he might have. With the Blades armour, he might have looked even better then before. He knew he had to hurry. More time had passed then he cared to think on and he knew he had to be sleeping in the tavern at Pell’s Gate by tonight lest he lose his chance to meet this Lucien, the next step on the path to finding Nerevar’s murderers.

He strapped his katana to his back, and tightened the strap around his waist as well, making sure lord Nerevar’s blade would not be lost and slowly got into the water. It was quite cold, and by the time Varvur crawled out on the other side, he was chilled to the bone. He walked in the direction he knew he would find the tavern and luckily, before long he was looking at it. Now came the next dilemma; he had no money. Everything had been taken when he had been thrown into jail, but Varvur decided to be bold. Who needs money when he wears the armour of the Emperor’s own guards?

He proudly walked into the tavern, demanded food, drink and a bed and bid the innkeeper to send the bill to the palace. He wasn’t the first to do so apparently, as the innkeeper looked sullenly at him, but did not say a word against it. He handed Varvur a key to his room and promised to bring along food and drink shortly. Varvur was very glad to once again have a warm bed, and good food. Prison meals simply didn’t cut it compared to this. After he’d had his meal, he went to bed. He took his blade with him, wanting to make sure no one could surprise him during the night.

Even so, he was surprised. Near dawn, he suddenly heard a voice from across the room.

“Come on sleepyhead, haven’t you slept enough? We have quite a bit to do today, so you’d better get moving.”

Varvur sat up, holding his katana in front of him. In the shadows he saw the outline of a hooded, cloaked man, an Imperial by the sound of his voice.

“Are you Lucien?”

“Yes, very good, my name is in fact Lucien Lachance, and your name is Varvur Sarethi. What a pleasure it is to meet such a noble figure so far from home.”

And as Lucien laughed, Varvur somehow got the impression that he was being mocked, but it didn’t matter.

“You mentioned we would be going somewhere? Where are we going? And how do you know who I am?”

“Ah, so many questions for one so young as yourself, but before I answer, a question of my own. Would you not come to work for the Dark Brotherhood instead? You did such a great job getting information out of Fafnir; he must have screamed all night.”

And another loud laugh. Varvur felt sickened; how could this man know so much about him? Nevertheless, he resolved his anguish and answered,

“I would never join you. I did what needed be done, not because I enjoyed it but because I had to.”

“Yes, of course that’s what they all say at first. But no matter, forget I asked. No true Redoran would ever be a good Brother anyway; you’re all far too noble for your own good. Anyway, moving along here; yes, I did in fact mention we would be going on a trip. How familiar are you with the ruling body of the Dark Brotherhood, young noble?”

“I know you’re ruled by 5 people in total, but little else.”

“Very good,” replied Lucien. “Yes 5 people indeed, one listener, and four speakers, together the five fingers of a hand, a black hand that is. I’m a speaker, I speak for the Listener, and the listener has heard the Night Mother had business with you personally. So it is my job to take you to the listener. Now either we can leave today together, or if you refuse, I must ask my operatives to pick you up and escort you there. The choice young Sarethi, is entirely yours.”

With a smile on his face, Lucien sat back and observed Varvur. To Varvur the choice wasn’t a hard one. He had wanted to find the head of the Dark Brotherhood from the start; if people would take him there and shorten his journey, all the better.

“I will come with you,” he told Lucien.

“Wonderful sir, your steed awaits outside, please meet me there in ten minutes.”

And with that, Lucien slowly faded back into the shadows. No door ever opened, no sound was made, but when Varvur got up to look in the corner where Lucien had just sat, there was no longer anyone there. All that was left on the chair was a black hooded robe. It was probably meant for him.

Now you've gone about and turned this story, which I originally thought would only be about the events happening in Morrowind, into an Oblivion fan fic! Who would have guessed? I really like how it's going however. Varvur's meeting with Lachance was great to read and now you've got me really anxious concerning Varvur's meeting with the Night Mother.

Of course, seeing as you've developed the story thus far, the next update will probably feature Helseth and will leave us with a cliffhanger much like the last update featuring Baladas did. Or you may surprise us by revealing what it was that Baladas saw. Either way, this story is such a pleasure to read that I think I won't even feel the passing of time as you reach the second thread with it. You did say it was 120 Word pages long, did you not?

109 actually, but considering I just posted up to page 61, and tonight will be up to page 65 (long chapter) we still have some ways to go yes.

Ah, and good instinct, next up Helseth again, and just as an authors comment, the second part of this next chapter is also one of my favorite sections that I wrote. You'll get to see why tomorrow

We are all surely waiting on the edge of our seats. As a trivial question though, what role exactly did Treydog have in elaborating this story? Merely spell-checking? Or did he also advise you when it came to plot devices and story elements?

And a little tongue-in-cheek question, will this brilliant story get posted on the main site?

Honestly though, I think it should. And, to make it all democratic and not look like you're abusing your power of choosing what stories get posted on the main site, you could post a poll in which the members of the forum are asked if they would consider this story to be worthy of the main site. I know I would vote twice for it to be posted on the main site, that's just how good it is.

His contributions have been invaluable in the field of grammar, spelling, and wording of things. Though the plot, story elements, story outline and all the events sprang from my thoughts




Well, if any of my stories are put up it would be this one, this one rather then the first.

I'll likely talk it over with some of the other staff before deciding to put it up though. Though I guess when it comes to choosing the stories that go up on the site, I guess so far I've always done that by myself. Acting either on my own observations when reading things, or on tips from moderators or other members. So far it's worked well

Just to reinforce- the absolutely brilliant plotting was entirely Alexander's. I was pleased to be asked to look over the story before it was posted, and did my usual "English teacher" markups (although I probably missed some....)

The transition from MW to Oblivion was handled beautifully and at the same time caught me by surprise- but after I read it, it made perfect sense. Excellent work, Alexander.