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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you…” I said.

“Dalyne Arvel, Hireling,” she introduced herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very well, tell me about this chore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are the questions?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” Divayth Fyr said.

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

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

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

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

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

“And the Divine Disease?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Two and a half thousand!” I exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your pardon?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A modernist?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Weary?” I asked, cautiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and

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

Well maybe there should be a "dictionary"

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

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

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

but yes another great addition override. really loved it

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why had the Redoran soldiers called him a necromancer?

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

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

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

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

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

Wow, you're just blazing away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

The insistent hammering on my door woke me from a dream. Heavy-lidded, I threw on a robe and went to answer. To my surprise, a youth stood there, proffering a sheet of velum. When I’d rewarded him with a golden coin, I shut the door and looked at the parchment uneasily. I had fancied that my little hidey-hole in Balmora was unknown to most people ~ excepting, of course, the Fighters Guild and Caius Cosades. So, to receive this missive was unsettling.

Any trace of sleepiness fell from my eyes as I examined the note. From Llunela Hleran, it urged me to visit her to discuss my stronghold. I believe the phrase ‘at your convenience’ was used. Throwing on more suitable attire, I forewent breakfast and travelled to Sadrith Mora with as much haste as I could muster.

“Muthsera Vahl,” Llunela said happily as I stepped into the circle of light around her fire. “I trust the day finds you well?” I nodded, wondering how to prompt her to hurry up. I needn’t have bothered. “Your stronghold is begun,” she said, “but I need you to travel to Uvirith’s Grave and speak to the construction boss, an Orc by the name of Gashnak gra-Mughol. She is overseeing the early stages of growth, but I need a progress report.

“Uvirith’s Grave is here,” she said, showing me a large map, “roughly west of Tel Fyr.”

Assuring her that I’d report back as quickly as possible, I made my way up to the docks and spoke the spell that would allow me to walk on water. I made good time, crossing Zafirbel Bay and came, in due course, to the shore of the main island. Large mountains blocked my direct route: as I didn’t wish to run the risk of getting lost, I used the levitation amulet to rise up and over them. Before too long, I found myself flying over a depressing landscape.

Hummocks of ashy-black rock rose up from the sere and lifeless plain below me. A few half-dead trees dotted the landscape while, from several hollows I crossed, steam rose from strangely shaped vents. As I travelled further inland the ground below me grew less hospitable and even more desolate ~ if such a thing was possible. My heart was down in my boots; surely my stronghold wasn’t being built in the trackless wasteland?

My fears were justified for I soon spotted an Orcish female standing atop a hill in the middle of this barrenness. Allowing the spell to fade (just as well, since the amulet was almost out of charge), I drifted towards the ground. Where, I wondered, was my tower? As I tramped up that hill, small puffs of gritty dust rising up with every footfall, I saw a small mass of tangled roots growing around a pair of matched crystals.

“Tower growing well,” the Orcish female said. “Week, perhaps a ten day, soon it be ready for second-stage growth. You tell Hleran I, construction boss, see no problems here.”

I wish I didn’t, I reflected as I constructed the shape of the translocation spell in my mind and stepped through it to Sadrith Mora. Llunela must have sensed my mood when I reported gra-Mughol’s words. She grinned when I explained the reason for my depression.

“See here Muthsera Vahl,” she said, placing her map where I could see it. Pointing to Uvirith’s Grave, she explained it to me. “Any traveller from Suran, Pelagiad, or Molag Mar will have to pass along one of these two routes…” Here she indicated two deep canyons leading north and east. “…And each of them leaves the traveller in this area around Uvirith’s Grave. They will have to pass by your stronghold to travel to the Grazelands or over to territory controlled by us. In other words, you will be controlling this whole area…” She made a sweep around Uvirith’s Grave with her finger, giving me some idea of the area of influence my tower would command. I felt a little better after that, but I was still unhappy at the severity of the location ~ just about everything I needed would have to be brought in.

Llunela just laughed when I mentioned that little fact, saying that I had much to learn about how Great House Telvanni organised things. I took heart from that, although I was a little surprised ~ after all, my fellow Telvanni make a virtue of their isolation and independence. Llunela wouldn’t be drawn on the subject preferring to ‘let it all come as a surprise’ as she put it. Instead, she told me the cautionary tale of Jaron Scorchblot, a very old and powerful Telvanni from the mainland. He had professed to need the isolation his remote stronghold gave him and had declined all contact. Within a year, his tower was so much mulch and he now spent his days wandering from place to place. “In fact,” she finished, “I believe he is currently residing on a rock somewhere out in Zafirbel Bay.”

The tale was, as I said, meant to be a cautionary one and I took careful note of that fact. So, there was some sort of support structure for the Telvanni Mage-Lords that was unknown to the outside world. Thinking back on the location of Shishi, it really shouldn’t have come as any surprise. And no, I’ll not be detailing the whys, how, and wherefores of that infrastructure. There are secrets we’ve kept for thousands of years; I see no reason to tell you everything.

I had seen Pelagiad when I’d first arrived on Vvardenfell and, for some reason, felt the need to see it again. Perhaps it was curiosity that drove me, or a vague sense of homesickness. So it was that I set off along the road towards the Imperial town. For a change, none of the local fauna seemed interested in making me their next meal, the sun was shining out of a cloudless sky, and there was the delicate scent of green and growing things on the breeze. Of all the things I’ve grown accustomed to during my long tenure on this island, the smell is the one thing that I still find the least pleasant. Oh, not that I mind the flinty, ash smell that permeates virtually everything here; no, it’s the smell of growing things I miss.

Still, I digress. I think I probably heard the woman before I caught sight of her ~ her sobbing was audible before she came into sight. Tall, with red hair and exquisite clothing, she looked the very definition of distress as she stood at the side of the road.

“What ails you?” I asked the Bretonian.

“Have you seen a bandit on your travels?” she asked. I shook my head. “Ah, such a shame,” she said, “for I have been robbed.”

“Was much taken?” I asked, adding, “I might be able to recover your jewels and valuables if you can give me a description of the thief.”

“Jewels and valuables?” she said haughtily. “Baubles I can afford to loose. No, what was stolen was much more valuable.”

Thinking she had been robbed of valuable documents, I pressed her for a description. “A Dark Elf, like yourself,” she said. “Tall, with brown hair and a twinkle in his eye. His face was ruggedly handsome and he was tall and proud.” I listened with growing dismay as she spoke, a soft and dreamlike tone in her voice as she described her assailant. “He took a kiss and stole my heart,” she concluded.

I raised an eyebrow at that. She begged me to seek out this bandit and give him a note and a token of her love, one of her exquisite gloves. While I could see no harm in what she asked, personally I thought her insane. To loose your heart to some bandit on the road seemed to me the very height of foolishness. Especially when you had no idea of where this bandit came from, or to whence he had gone, and only the name ‘Nelos Onmar’.

Putting her note and token away, I continued on down the road ~ occasionally shaking my head at such an absurd idea. I was, I’ll admit, tempted to throw note and glove away and forget this task. So engrossed was I with my internal debate that I almost stepped into the woman who stood blocking my way.

“Traveller,” she said, “a boon if you will.” I looked up to see a priestess of Kynareth, clad in the traditional blue robe of that order. “Please can you bring the Guard from Pelagiad? Some ruffians have taken over the shrine and I cannot deal with them. And I fear my sister’s life ~ she is still inside.”

“Why would anyone attack a shrine?” I asked.

“Two very important religious icons are on display,” she explained. “If they are stolen, it will be a disaster.”

“Perhaps I can help?” I said. “If I’m careful, I might be able to free your sister at the very least. It would be quicker than bringing the guards here.”

“Why would you help Dark Elf?” she asked. “This is an Imperial matter.”

Although it amused me that Ariene mistook me for a native, her words also stung. Rather brusquely I explained that I was an Imperial citizen, recently arrived from the mainland and that, while not a devotee of Kynareth, I worshipped at the shrine of Stendarr. I will admit, however, that I neglected to mention that it had been a good number of years since I’d last stood before the altar and made my devotions. She seemed to reach a decision and gave me the key to the shrine.

As I slipped the massive brass key into the equally massive lock, I wondered what madness had come over me. What had started as a simple walk in the countryside had become a matter of arranging a tryst between a love-struck Breton and a Dunmer bandit who probably didn’t even remember her; and of recovering (or attempting to recover) two sacred artefacts from a besieged shrine. Once again I was prompted to wonder ‘why me?’

The cool blues of the shrine reflected the light from a very ornately decorated panel that greeted the visitor on entering. Above me, a balcony jutted out from the wall, to my right a small set of stairs descended to a dark wooden door, directly in front of me was the sacristy ~ the place where the prayers were said. Although there was nobody about, I could hear the faint scrape of metal on stone.

The levitation amulet allowed me to reach the balcony, since there seemed to be no other method of getting there. The door, which was the only feature of the area, yielded easily to my touch and I stepped into a small chamber. Three things immediately struck my attention and made me draw my axe. The first was the ebony sphere that was displayed on a lavish golden stand. The glass cover that had protected it lay in shards on the top of the simple stone plinth. The second thing was the woman, clad in black armour, reaching for the sphere. The final thing was the look of pure venom she gave me when I entered. With no word or challenge, she drew a strangely wrought blade and advanced on me purposefully.

She was skilled, I’ll give her that and, not so long ago she would have proved too formidable an opponent for me. However, I’d grown in stature and power since I’d arrived and the Dwemer axe ~ which I’d named ‘Bara Ddeisyf’, or ‘The Last Wish’ ~ was a far more deadly weapon than her simple blade. Heavy gilded Dwemeri metal crashed against her black armour as I sidestepped the thrust, the keen edge of the weapon tearing the iron like cloth.

“Crn spas osim ako mene,” she spat in a language unknown to me as the spells woven into the axe bit home. The ragged edges of the cut I’d made in the armour glowed a dull red as the fire-based enchantment ripped at the flesh underneath. Giving her no chance to recover, I stepped in and swung again and again ~ successive flares of heat blooming at each strike. Warily, I stepped back and hefted the Wish, waiting to see what the stricken woman would do next.

According to the lays sung by the bards, she should have lain down her sword and sued for mercy. If you’ve been adventuring yourself, you’ll know it’s surprising how infrequently things like that happen. With a loud cry, she hurled herself at me with the sword held high overhead. The vindictive blow struck the upraised shaft of my axe and stopped it cold: even as the sound of metal on metal was reverberating around the chamber, I brought down the axe ~ burying the curved blade in the top of her head.

Coolly working the Wish from its resting place, I stepped back and used a handy tapestry to clean the worst of the gore from the blade. Then I turned my attention to the ebon sphere that had been singing to me since I stepped into the room. I was wary about touching it since it was obviously a source of great power but I dare not leave it here in case there were others who would steal it while I searched for the other artefact. Reaching down, I picked the surprisingly heavy object up. There was a strange roaring sound in my ears and I felt a familiar tugging sensation.

I’d had a vision of a similarly sized ivory sphere in a chamber with intricately worked iron doors. Further more, I knew exactly where this chamber lay in relation to my current position. I can, sometimes, sense the presence of enchanted items ~ it’s an ability over which I have no control and is part of my skill at identifying magical items. Never, in all my life, had I felt it so strongly: it was as if a golden thread glimmered before me and showed the way to the second relic. So overpowering was this knowledge that I had little option other than to follow the thread to its end.

Beneath the shrine lay a small complex of rooms. These housed supplies for the shrine and the living quarters of the priestess and her sister. They also currently housed two armoured guards who were somewhat aggressively unhappy at my presence. However, a fey mood had come over me since I’d grasped the ebony sphere and I moved between them as they were acting in slow motion. The construct for the spell ‘Boiling Blood’ rose up in my mind, tier after tier of convoluted Arcana: their sluggish movements guaranteed their rapid demise.

Goodness...this is amazing.....every blow Sudhendra makes is described in such a vivid way you can almost see it in your mind...well at least I can!

and this young lady kills and run love-errands with the same cool attitude... If I personally was to be translocated to Morrowind (it is possible...just read Alexander´s story... ) then I would very much like to meet Sudhendra and have a nice looong chat with her...

Please can we have some pictures????? :drool:

Some pictures? I think I have a couple more you might not have seen

[img]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v636/OverrideB1/AscendedRobe.jpg[/img]

and

[img]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v636/OverrideB1/VahlDaedric1.jpg[/img]

The cowering woman locked in the cell was Coryn, the sister of Ariene. She told me that there was one more robber in the shrine and that I would find her behind the iron doors at one end of the complex. She also warned me that the woman was a skilled warrior. Taking the proffered key, I walked to the massive doors. How, I wondered as I slipped the key into the lock, had this other woman managed to get inside if Coryn had the key?

Such thoughts were fleeting, the sound of the heavy doors grating back on their hinges had obviously alerted the female inside and it was only reflex that saved me from becoming shorter by a head. With strength I didn’t know I possessed, I shoved the armour-clad woman back a few steps and drew myself up to my full height. “Surrender or die,” I offered as I hefted my axe.

“Die then,” I advised as the woman screamed at me in the same language as the one upstairs and threw herself at me. Unlike the previous warrior-thief, this woman was more skilled and less impetuous. However, her vulnerability to the spells woven into my axe was no less pronounced. She was, however, still at a disadvantage, for that odd fey mood was still upon me. Her movements seemed slightly slower than they should have been, and I was easily able to dodge or block her blows. My first retaliatory blow surprised even me. There was a sonorous chiming sound as the blade struck her cuirass. A startled look crossed her face as the force of my blow drove her backwards helplessly.

Within moments, or so it seemed to me, I had struck another massive blow ~ sending her crashing against the door, while I had deftly deflected her strikes. The strange feeling that had come over me when I’d picked up the ebon sphere was growing stronger and I felt more and more… disconnected somehow ~ almost as though my actions were being guided and other eyes looked through mine. Almost without thought, I struck her down again, this time hearing something crack unpleasantly in her chest.

“Think you are winner,” she panted, blood flecks appearing on her lips as she spoke. “I am thinking not. My Lord Zumars your head will have for this.”

“Who is Lord Zumars?” The question seemed to be coming from a distance, and it was a moment before I realised it was me speaking. She snarled at me and raised her hand to her mouth and bit down on whatever was concealed there. Instantly, she went into convulsions and, before I’d taken the two steps necessary to cover the distance between us, she flopped back lifelessly.

Whatever force was driving me now spun me around and made me walk to the delicately carved podium at the end of the chamber. There, glowing with a soft inner light, was another sphere ~ this one pearl-white. As my fingers touched it, the strange mood I’d been in fell away, vanishing like a shadow at midday. I should have felt weary after such a prolonged series of fights but I felt light as a feather and oddly rejuvenated. Picking up the second sphere, I carried them carefully outside.

Coryn and Ariene were waiting for me, and the priestess soon took possession of the globes intending, she said, to return them to the mainland immediately. Coryn was slightly less distracted and thanked me repeatedly for recovering the relics.

“I have a present for you,” she said, motioning me to the side of the terrace. There stood a wooden crate. “I trust it will serve you better than it has served me,” Coryn said softly. “Please tell us where to have it delivered.” Once more thanking her, although I didn’t know just then what a princely gift she was making, I gave her the address in Labour Town.

I followed the main road further until I came to the turning for Pelagiad. The town itself was pleasant enough, and the people friendly. However, it was an odd thing. I’d set off this morning filled with the desire to see a town of the sort I used to live in but, now I was here, it seemed faintly alien and strange.

The ‘Halfway Inn’ served a nice enough meal and I ate heartily, musing as I did on the strange sensation of being driven that I’d felt earlier. While I put it down to Kynareth acting through me, I decided I really didn’t like it. After all, wasn’t I captain of my own fate?

Fate, or whatever Power it is that controls it, certainly has an odd sense of humour. I had just gone up to the bar to get another glass of Sujamma when I heard the proprietor address a customer, saying “I’d suspect Nelos Onmar of stealing the bowl if it wasn’t for the fact he rarely leaves Pelagiad.”

“Excuse me,” I asked him as he served me my drink, “do you know Nelos Onmar? And what’s this about a stolen bowl?”

He looked at me blankly, so I added ten Septims to the change on the bar and slid the money back towards him. He started to clean the bar with a cloth, making the money vanish in the process. “I heard, from the Ygfa the healer in the fort, that Piernette Beluelle has had a silver bowl stolen right from inside her farmhouse. As for Nelos, you’ll find him over there.”

“I might be, pretty lady,” the richly clad Dunmer said when I asked if he was Nelos Onmar. “It very much depends on who it is doing the asking, and why.”

I explained my presence to him, presenting him with the note and the glove the Breton had given me. He looked totally taken aback and sat down rather heavily. I sat opposite him and looked at him in some amusement as he stared into his ale. Then, like a dog emerging from a lake, he shook himself all over and stood up. “I have been a fool,” he said, bowing slightly in my direction. “I overlooked the greatest treasure of all.” Resolutely, he walked from the Inn as I sat there completely bemused. It was much later that I learned that they’d run off together and set up on the mainland together, in one of those little towns that dot the border.

Ygfa turned out to be one of the most profitable people I’d encountered in a long while. After she’d confirmed that the silver bowl I had back in Balmora was the one stolen from Piernette Beluelle and giving me directions on how to find her farm, we spoke for a good while. What we spoke of were the diseases of the island ~ many of them, she told me, unique to Vvardenfell. She told me the symptoms of the diseases and how to recognise them and also showed me how to mix up a potion that would cure both common diseases and the much worse Blights that I might be exposed to. The process wasn’t complicated, nor the ingredients particularly difficult to acquire and I resolved that I would at least dabble in this alchemy lark until I was good enough to make curative potions for myself.

Returning to Balmora, I found an Orc sitting outside my house. He had been given some coin to deliver a large crate to me. I gave him a few more to deposit the box inside and stood looking at it for a while. When it failed to do anything unpleasant, I levered it open.

“Sweet Stendarr’s mercy,” I gasped as I took out the pieces of armour. There was no mistaking the design or colour ~ they were the dark, sky-blue of the Order of the Air, edged in the traditional silver design of Kynareth’s ministry. In addition to the full suit of armour was a blue robe with the device of Kynareth on the front.

WoW....what a great description of Sudhendra´s adventures in this shrine....Really an enjoyable reading!

ehum..where is Labour Town? Is it a mod or have I just not seen it when travelling around?

[quote=minque]ehum..where is Labour Town? Is it a mod or have I just not seen it when travelling around?[/quote]

Labour Town is the south side of Balmora, across the Odai where the South Wall Corner Club and Caius Cosades live. That phrase pops up in the NOLORE dialogue for Balmora when you are in Balmora. The Commercial District is the bit north of the river, where the Guilds are. High Town is where all the manor houses are.

I set out this morning for the Ascadian Isles, using the Mages Guild service to get me to Vivec City. The directions Ygfa had given me yestere were excellent and it wasn’t too long before I arrived at the farm of Piernette Beluelle. To say that she was delighted to receive the bowl back would be an understatement: and she also seemed very surprised that I’d brought such a valuable object back.

“Let me tell you a few secrets,” she said. And so, for the next hour, I sat and listened as she told me how to get the best deals out of traders and merchants. What she told me might not have unlocked the secrets of the universe, but it was extremely valuable and would make sure that any future sales or purchases were more advantageous to me than the trader.

I left the farmhouse and breathed deeply of the morning air. I liked the Ascadian isles ~ the greenery, the fresh air, the cries of distress…

I’d been walking for quite a while, drinking in the surroundings and luxuriating in the warm sunshine when I heard a small voice yell, “Is there anyone there? Can somebody, please, help me?” It was the voice of someone who’s been yelling a while and doesn’t expect a reply.

I trotted in the direction of the voice, coming at last to a small wooded glen. “Oh thank Vivec,” the voice sighed, “Can you help me?”

I looked around, but couldn’t see who was speaking. “No,” the voice said, “I’m up here.”

Perched precariously in the fork of a tree and almost hidden by the leaves, was a shivering Dunmer. When I asked him what he was doing up there, he fetched a long sigh and said, “Thoronor and I were making a pilgrimage to Kummu, you know, the shrine there? Anyway,” he continued as I shook my head, “I heard some Kagouti nearby and came to have a look. Turns out the blasted things were in rut and they chased me. I finally hid up here until they went away. And up here I’m staying until those beasts are very, very far away.”

Well, I could hardly leave him up in the tree until he rotted, could I? So, telling him that I’d see what I could do, I headed in the direction he indicated he’d come from. Sure enough, there was a pride of Kagouti in the next valley and they took an instant dislike to my presence. Now Kagouti are big and fierce but slow and boy, are they dumb. So dumb, in fact, that they just stood there and let me cast a couple of fireballs at them before they made any move to attack. By that time the air was filled with the smell of cooking meat and the few survivors didn’t put up too much of a challenge.

Once I’d convinced him that the beasts were not going to be a problem, Edras Oril clambered down from the tree and sheepishly followed me back to the crossroads where he’d left his Bosmeri friend.

“Edras! What have you been doing,” the little Bosmer clucked, rushing over to his friend and brushing leaves and detritus from the Elf’s clothing. “Just look at the state of you.” The Dunmer gave me a slow, challenging look as his friend prattled on ~ as if daring me to comment. “Where are my manners?” the diminutive Wood Elf said, rushing over to me. “Thank you for saving Edras ma’am. Please, we are but poor pilgrims and have little to offer but perhaps this trinket would be some recompense?”

Thanking them, I continued on my way, eventually coming back to Balmora.

Still unsure of what I should do next, I decided that I could head on up to Caldera and explore. I’d passed through, briefly, a few days ago. It had looked a typical Imperial town and, to be honest, I was trying to resolve my ambivalent feelings about that. On the one hand, I’d been brought up in (and had visited many) a town just like Pelagiad and Caldera. They were a known quantity, a familiar thing in a very unfamiliar place. You’d think, then, that the sight of them would make me… warm and fuzzy. However, the more frequently I visited them, the more I detested their bland sameness and longed for the strange and beautiful local architecture.

So musing, I passed the stark beauty of the Akatosh Shrine that stood beside the road, its gold and black banners fluttering in the breeze. Even though I was still in the region known as West Gash, the scenery around me was taking on more and more of the aspects of the Molag Amur. Not too distant, over the rolling hills, rose a massive line of sharp-backed mountains while the road I was on wandered around the base of a vast dark peak. As the straw-topped watch towers of Caldera came into view, my thoughts once more turned to the ancient cataclysm that must have ravaged this land.

I knew, now, that there was a vast volcanic region in the centre of the island and that this volcano had last exploded thousands of years ago. Even now, the echoes of that event surrounded me as I stood in the main square of Caldera ~ it must have raised up the mountains that surrounded the town, mountains that the slow passage of time had worn down to their current majestic peaks. Shaking myself out of my reverie, I started to explore the town.

Not that there was much to explore. Like all Imperial towns it boasted an Inn, a few shops and an Imperial garrison. The one in Caldera was particularly magnificent and obviously served as a home for someone of importance as well as the local guards. Of which there seemed to be a fair number.

“Ebony,” one of the locals explained. “That’s why there’s so many guards here. The main centre of Ebony mining is just up the road away, and there’s always someone who fancies his chances at pocketing a chunk or two. Strictly illegal, of course, and woe betide you if a guard catches you without a licence and a pocket full of the black stuff.” I knew of Ebony ~ who didn’t ~ but only as worked armour or weapons carried by the richest of the rich. I’d even seen some, once, a suit of black armour worn by an Inquisitor who rode through the village. The local went on to explain that the previous Imperial Governor of Caldera had been removed and sent far away because of irregularities in his ledgers. Ghorak Manor, his residence, had stood empty ever since. The new Governor lived in the imposing structure on the hill.

I went to look at Ghorak Manor, but it was shuttered and locked. One the door fluttered a notice that baldly stated the Manse was for sale and that anyone interested should speak to Daran Atard. I laughed, drawing the occasional odd look from the passers-by. The ‘offers around fifty thousand’ line at the bottom of the note amused me no end: who would ever accumulate that much money?

Irgola the pawnbroker was my next stop, for I remembered that Folms Mirel had told me he had one of the Propylon Indexes the mage needed. My guess is that Folms had attempted to purchase the item before since Irgola wouldn’t budge on the price.

“Five ‘undred,” he said adamantly, “take it or leave it.” With a long-suffering sigh, I counted out the coins as he reached under the counter and fetched out a large steel box. He rummaged inside and finally set something down on the counter in front of me. I blinked, I’d just spent about a third of my money on an unremarkable sliver of stone ~ dull grey and about the size of my thumb. I picked it up; noticing as I did that the flattened top of the sliver bore an inset circle of golden coloured metal. The other thing I noticed was that the object was magically inert ~ not even a flicker of song from it.

There were cold stares all around as I entered the Caldera Guildhouse, the mages eyeing me warily as I made my way upstairs. Mirel, at least, seemed pleased to see me and quickly relieved me of the tiny stone and replaced it with a leather pouch containing five hundred Septims.

“While you’ve been gone,” he said, “I’ve been doing some research. And I think I’ve found out where there is another Propylon Index. It seems that a pilgrim gave the stone to the temple in Vivec City. They, not knowing what it was, or what to do with it, sent it to the temple at Saint Olms. My guess is that they had no clearer idea what it was so they put it in storage. Find it for me, and I’ll pay you another five hundred Drakes.”

“Can you tell me,” I asked, “why I seem to be so unpopular with the Mages Guild all of a sudden?”

“Hmpf,” he muttered. “I would have thought the reason was self-evident… Telvanni.”

So that was what the ‘problem’ was. I was a magic-user that they didn’t control. Well, too bad for them. I made my contempt for their problems clear by swiping a complete alchemy set from an upstairs storeroom before leaving. I doubted that they’d miss it, given the disarray that the room was in: besides, I thought my need was greater than theirs.

Having grown bored with the delights of Caldera I headed north, following the weathered signs for a place called Hla Oad. The lushness of West Gash soon gave way to the different lushness of the Bitter Coast. There were insects buzzing everywhere and strange twisted fungi sprouted from the bases and trunks of the gnarled trees. The road, now heading downwards at a steep angle went past an ancient burial site, which the cartouche identified as the Norvayn Ancestral Tomb. Vast strands of ancient creepers overhung the door, whose rotting timbers sprouted more of those unpleasant looking fungal growths. Shivering slightly despite the heat, I carried on my way.

As the road wound it way around deep and rank-smelling pools, I soon found myself walking past the bulk of another of those ancient forts. According to my map, it was the fortress of Hlormaren but, after my experiences in Telasero, I was in no mood to venture inside and explore. So it was, by this circuitous route that I returned to Balmora and my welcoming bed.

[b]Here Ends the Second Part of the Tale of Sudhendra Vahl

A great ending of this chapter......now we eagerly awaite the thrilling continuation....... :lickinglips: