Chapter 8. A tale of two Snakes.
Vivec. Quite possibly the largest city in Morrowind both in terms of population and overall size. Divided into cantons, with a change in two of them since lord Nerevar had come back. After he’d defeated Dagoth Ur, and then killed the remaining two members of the Tribunal, the temple followers wanted to change the palace that had belonged to Vivec, and turn it into a palace for lord Nerevar. He had refused, of course, but he did make a few other changes. Formerly St. Olms canton was now home to representatives of the house Indoril. And St. Delyn home to house Dres. Varvur assumed lord Nerevar had always thought whoever had built Vivec had made an error by only allowing three houses to represent themselves there.
As was customary, Varvur first went in search of the ranking Redoran in Vivec, Favela Dralor. While walking through the Hlaalu compound, where the boat had dropped him off, Varvur noticed many nervous and even hostile looks thrown his way. There was a tension here so clearly one could likely cut it with a Daedric dagger. He sighed in relief when he found himself across the bridge to the Redoran canton, but even there he felt some nervous stares.
Favela revealed the reason for the nervousness. “Haven’t you heard yet, Varvur? Cassius Curio was murdered two nights ago. He was found by servants yesterday morning; someone had strangled him. It was not a pretty sight, I can assure you. But luckily there’s already a large search going on to find the killer, one of his own kin- can you imagine that? But then the Hlaalu have never taken their house relations as seriously as we have.”
“Who killed him then, Favela?”
“Why it was that Dram Bero character. I tell you, no one in his right mind would want to live in a haunted house, and he proved that he was crazy when he strangled old Curio.”
“But did anyone see him do it? I mean are there any witnesses?” Varvur remembered when he’d last seen master Bero at the funeral and he looked simply crushed. And even before that, he’d always been on good terms with most of the Redoran and even Indoril nobles. To think he could have done such a ghastly deed.
“Yes, Yngling saw him. He witnessed Bero coming out of Curio’s manor, and saw him holding a bloody cord. He confronted him about it and was nearly killed himself. Bero fled the city and Yngling got together with the other remaining councillors; Velanda Omani, Nevena Ules and Raynasa Rethan, and threw Bero out of house Hlaalu. I hope they find that monster and string him up.”
Varvur thanked Favela for bringing him up to speed. Even though he had some doubts about Dram Bero being the killer, he was wise enough to keep those to himself, and went on his way, the reason he’d come to Vivec. Across the bridge from the Redoran Compound lay the Arena, a canton on its own, it housed much of the scum of Vivec. At the very top one could find the actual Arena, with seating to house all of Vivec if need be. Varvur recalled the crowd when lord Nerevar had battled the former Grandmaster of the Redoran, Bolvyn Venim. There hadn’t been an empty seat in the area. Everyone who was anyone wanted to see this man who claimed to be an incarnate in action, not least of all the Redoran nobles. I think there were but a few people who actually felt sorry when Venim was cleanly beheaded by lord Nerevar, and most of those were removed from the house in the next few weeks due to evidence of corruption. All were surprised when rather then demanding the title of Grandmaster for himself, lord Nerevar instead allowed the Redoran to choose amongst their own for the new Grandmaster. Of course Varvur’s father had been granted that honour. Varvur later learned that to be typical of lord Nerevar’s character, an excellent swordsman, perhaps the best in the land even, a huge sense of honor and righteousness, he was the ultimate fighter. At the same time he’d never to Varvur’s knowledge, used any magical or stealth abilities. But with a sword arm as fast as his, he didn’t need it.
But today Varvur was not there to visit the arena pit to see a fight; no today he went to where the rats were housed, to the storage area. It was a place everyone knew how to find, but none were willing to go. Entering the area, Varvur noticed he was being followed. A Dunmer whom he had seen first in the Hlaalu canton was trying his best to go unobserved. Quickly, Varvur rounded a corner, drew his blade and stood very quietly. Very softly, he heard ever nearing footsteps and just as the tail reached the end of the stairs, Varvur grabbed him, shoved him to the wall and pressed his blade to his throat.
“Why are you following me?”
“Mercy Serah, I was merely ordered to keep you from doing anything rash.”
“Like killing you?” Varvur saw he held a young Dunmer, he couldn’t have been more then 50 years old, most definitely not a weathered assassin.
“Serah, Grandmaster Eno bid me to welcome you, and promise you safe passage for one day in our headquarters. Look Serah, in my right pocket is his seal.” Not trusting what appeared to be the thrall a bit, he bid him to slowly take it out himself. It proved to be truly the seal of the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong.
Such a thing had not occurred so long as Varvur could remember, a non-member allowed freely into the headquarters of the Morag Tong and leaving with their life.
“Please Serah, the grandmaster bid me to blindfold you so you would not know the inside.” Varvur sheathed his blade, and allowed himself to be blindfolded. He was led by the thrall into a door, and down a short ladder. He assumed he was directly below the storage area now and he didn’t think this was the only entrance, and likely the last time this entrance would be used. He walked for a short time through what he felt was a narrow corridor; in the distance he heard some vague chanting so he knew there had to be a shrine present, and a bit further he heard the distinct clink of blades. They came to a door, and he heard the thrall knock softly on it. The door opened and he was ushered inside. Not until the door was again closed and locked though, was the blindfold removed. And there Varvur found himself eye to eye with Eno Hlaalu. Though relatively young at 125, the current Grandmaster of the Morag Tong was already legendary. Rumour had it he’d made a tremendously fast rise to the top of the assassins guild, and there was even a rumour that he’d allowed the former Grandmaster, already getting on with age, die peacefully in a remote location rather than killing him as was the custom. Such rumours had of course never been proven.
“Hello Varvur; I knew you’d come here sooner or later. I hope my thrall has not inconvenienced you in any way?”
“No, thank you, master Hlaalu,” Varvur had always been taught it’s better to show politeness to a snake when you entered its den then risk its wrath, “But your thrall could do with some more lessons in how to better sneak.”
“Yes, I’ve been telling him that myself but young people today have a hard time listening.” Varvur listened as he looked over the room. It was very plain, with very few things in sight. Almost everything in it seemed to have a function except perhaps one thing. In a corner Varvur saw a magnificent enchanted cuirass. It was obviously crafted from heavy material by the looks of it and very out of place in the room of a warrior who spent his entire time training for speed.
“Yes, a magnificent cuirass, wouldn’t you agree Varvur? It’s actually an artefact, the Lords Mail. It was given to me as payment for a….. recent service. Of course that is all I can say about that.”
Varvur nodded. “So, you’ve come here looking for the murderer of lord Nerevar have you? You’ve come to the wrong place. No Morag Tong member killed lord Nerevar. Not many people know of this, but he and I made an arrangement. He would allow us to remain, doing what we do, for the guarantee that each time there was a council meeting, every member of the Morag Tong was accounted for and inside either this headquarters, or one of the chapter houses in the great cities. After the murder I immediately summoned the local heads, and all the members that night were accounted for. So you see, we could not have done it.”
“Why would lord Nerevar make such an arrangement with you master Hlaalu?”
“I guess he did not want to have to worry about anyone falling over dead during a council meeting. Though I guess in the end, it was not enough.”
Varvur believed him; one could say a lot about the Morag Tong, but they were definitely not liars. Their honour code prohibited it.
“But then if the Morag Tong was not responsible, do you have an idea who was?”
Eno looked Varvur over first before he said, “No. I cannot give you the name of the murderer, but I can give you the name of one who might know. Belwen, a Bosmer and clothier in Mournhold has long been believed to be either a member, or an informer of our Sithis-worshipping cousins. He might not be the head of the snake, but at least he might be able to tell you where to find it.”
Varvur saw Eno looking at him slyly, head of the snake, either a coincidence, or Eno had known what Balen Sarethi had said to him. Varvur assumed the latter and it made him shudder with unease.
“Now before you go Varvur, a word of advice: be careful what you do once you’re in Mournhold. Some of my thralls call me the master of birds, after a hobby of mine. I enjoy listening to the songs of birds, and the past week those songs have not been good. They sing of death, of people being murdered, of the undead moving in vast numbers across the land to Mephala knows where, Great Houses being rearranged, old alliances broken and new ones popping up everywhere. Some might say we have an exciting time ahead of us, but to people who make their living off of covert deaths, I think the coming time will be dangerous, and trying. Now leave Varvur, and don’t come back. If you are wise, stay out of our path, for when next you meet the Morag Tong, there might be more then a thrall waiting.”
As if on cue, the young thrall entered the room again and bound the blindfold over Varvur’s eyes. He was carefully lead back through the corridor, and out of the headquarters. When they were back in the storage area, the thrall asked to have the Grandmaster’s seal back, promised to deliver it again onto the hands of Grandmaster Eno, and disappeared into the shadows. Upon consideration, Varvur thought the thrall might not have been as inexperienced as he’d wanted him to think. With that thought and everything Eno had told him, he set out to find Asciene Rane to inquire about transportation to Mournhold.
Of course Varvur knew of whom Eno had been speaking. The Dark Brotherhood, once a part of the Morag Tong, who ages past had broken off from the Morag Tong and started their own assassins guild. It quickly became little more then a death guild though, abandoning the worship of Mephala, led by a legendary creature called the Night Mother, they now sought the favour of the dark one, Sithis. The Dark Brotherhood in recent years had crossed the path of lord Nerevar three times, first sending a single assassin, then sending no fewer then three assassins when lord Nerevar disposed of the first. He did the unthinkable though and actually faced and defeated three Dark Brotherhood assassins. After that second attempt he felt the world, or at least Morrowind, would be a better place without them. As the story goes, he travelled by himself to Mournhold, found the Dark Brotherhood beneath the Great Bazaar and killed them to a man, even going so far as to kill one of the famed speakers of the Dark Hand. That was a feat few people could honestly claim.
In recent years no Dark Brotherhood member had shown itself in Morrowind, and their lair beneath the Great Bazaar was long empty, but all knew that was no assurance that the Brotherhood really was gone. If this Belwen was in fact a member, then the Brotherhood had once again found some nerve. After having arrived in Mournhold, Varvur wasted no time in finding the shop of Belwen. He spent a few hours first observing the store from a distance, and when it was growing late and Belwen was just about to close up for the evening, Varvur entered the shop. A look of recognition crossed the face of Belwen and he immediately went for something underneath his desk. But Varvur proved even faster as he drew his blade and put the very tip of it square through the throat of the Mer.
His instincts proved correct, as below the counter Varvur found both a crossbow aimed at the door, and what appeared to be an explosive device. He assumed Belwen would have tried to use the bolt on him first, and then if that had failed, he would have blown himself up before answering any questions.
Such a Dwemer explosive device was very hard to come by, and very expensive, an indication that Belwen had been more then a simple lowly operative, and more than a mere spy. Varvur locked the door of the shop from the inside, and went on a careful search through the house. During that search he came very close to setting off traps on several occasions. The first was a book he opened to see if there was something hidden inside and the book was connected to a wire. It was all he could do to duck in time for the crossbow bolt to barely miss him. And when he found the hatch leading down to the basement of the shop, two of the stairs were rigged and below there were a number of very sharp, and most likely poisoned spears waiting for anyone not alert enough.
In the end, his search proved successful at least, for on a table in the basement of the shop Varvur found a note sent to Belwen.
Last message received in good order. No new orders. Fafnir will collect your next report as scheduled. If you must reach him, it’s the same location as always, Imperial City, Cyrodiil.
Mother is pleased.
L.L.
How careless, Varvur observed, to mention an operative by name like that. It must be someone very low on the list for them to care so little about his identity. And that last line obviously referred to the Night Mother. If this L.L. knew how she felt about him, he or she must be someone who could take Varvur to her. And he had a feeling this Fafnir would be able to tell him who L.L. was.
On to the next chapter
Vivec. Quite possibly the largest city in Morrowind both in terms of population and overall size. Divided into cantons, with a change in two of them since lord Nerevar had come back. After he’d defeated Dagoth Ur, and then killed the remaining two members of the Tribunal, the temple followers wanted to change the palace that had belonged to Vivec, and turn it into a palace for lord Nerevar. He had refused, of course, but he did make a few other changes. Formerly St. Olms canton was now home to representatives of the house Indoril. And St. Delyn home to house Dres. Varvur assumed lord Nerevar had always thought whoever had built Vivec had made an error by only allowing three houses to represent themselves there.
As was customary, Varvur first went in search of the ranking Redoran in Vivec, Favela Dralor. While walking through the Hlaalu compound, where the boat had dropped him off, Varvur noticed many nervous and even hostile looks thrown his way. There was a tension here so clearly one could likely cut it with a Daedric dagger. He sighed in relief when he found himself across the bridge to the Redoran canton, but even there he felt some nervous stares.
Favela revealed the reason for the nervousness. “Haven’t you heard yet, Varvur? Cassius Curio was murdered two nights ago. He was found by servants yesterday morning; someone had strangled him. It was not a pretty sight, I can assure you. But luckily there’s already a large search going on to find the killer, one of his own kin- can you imagine that? But then the Hlaalu have never taken their house relations as seriously as we have.”
“Who killed him then, Favela?”
“Why it was that Dram Bero character. I tell you, no one in his right mind would want to live in a haunted house, and he proved that he was crazy when he strangled old Curio.”
“But did anyone see him do it? I mean are there any witnesses?” Varvur remembered when he’d last seen master Bero at the funeral and he looked simply crushed. And even before that, he’d always been on good terms with most of the Redoran and even Indoril nobles. To think he could have done such a ghastly deed.
“Yes, Yngling saw him. He witnessed Bero coming out of Curio’s manor, and saw him holding a bloody cord. He confronted him about it and was nearly killed himself. Bero fled the city and Yngling got together with the other remaining councillors; Velanda Omani, Nevena Ules and Raynasa Rethan, and threw Bero out of house Hlaalu. I hope they find that monster and string him up.”
Varvur thanked Favela for bringing him up to speed. Even though he had some doubts about Dram Bero being the killer, he was wise enough to keep those to himself, and went on his way, the reason he’d come to Vivec. Across the bridge from the Redoran Compound lay the Arena, a canton on its own, it housed much of the scum of Vivec. At the very top one could find the actual Arena, with seating to house all of Vivec if need be. Varvur recalled the crowd when lord Nerevar had battled the former Grandmaster of the Redoran, Bolvyn Venim. There hadn’t been an empty seat in the area. Everyone who was anyone wanted to see this man who claimed to be an incarnate in action, not least of all the Redoran nobles. I think there were but a few people who actually felt sorry when Venim was cleanly beheaded by lord Nerevar, and most of those were removed from the house in the next few weeks due to evidence of corruption. All were surprised when rather then demanding the title of Grandmaster for himself, lord Nerevar instead allowed the Redoran to choose amongst their own for the new Grandmaster. Of course Varvur’s father had been granted that honour. Varvur later learned that to be typical of lord Nerevar’s character, an excellent swordsman, perhaps the best in the land even, a huge sense of honor and righteousness, he was the ultimate fighter. At the same time he’d never to Varvur’s knowledge, used any magical or stealth abilities. But with a sword arm as fast as his, he didn’t need it.
But today Varvur was not there to visit the arena pit to see a fight; no today he went to where the rats were housed, to the storage area. It was a place everyone knew how to find, but none were willing to go. Entering the area, Varvur noticed he was being followed. A Dunmer whom he had seen first in the Hlaalu canton was trying his best to go unobserved. Quickly, Varvur rounded a corner, drew his blade and stood very quietly. Very softly, he heard ever nearing footsteps and just as the tail reached the end of the stairs, Varvur grabbed him, shoved him to the wall and pressed his blade to his throat.
“Why are you following me?”
“Mercy Serah, I was merely ordered to keep you from doing anything rash.”
“Like killing you?” Varvur saw he held a young Dunmer, he couldn’t have been more then 50 years old, most definitely not a weathered assassin.
“Serah, Grandmaster Eno bid me to welcome you, and promise you safe passage for one day in our headquarters. Look Serah, in my right pocket is his seal.” Not trusting what appeared to be the thrall a bit, he bid him to slowly take it out himself. It proved to be truly the seal of the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong.
Such a thing had not occurred so long as Varvur could remember, a non-member allowed freely into the headquarters of the Morag Tong and leaving with their life.
“Please Serah, the grandmaster bid me to blindfold you so you would not know the inside.” Varvur sheathed his blade, and allowed himself to be blindfolded. He was led by the thrall into a door, and down a short ladder. He assumed he was directly below the storage area now and he didn’t think this was the only entrance, and likely the last time this entrance would be used. He walked for a short time through what he felt was a narrow corridor; in the distance he heard some vague chanting so he knew there had to be a shrine present, and a bit further he heard the distinct clink of blades. They came to a door, and he heard the thrall knock softly on it. The door opened and he was ushered inside. Not until the door was again closed and locked though, was the blindfold removed. And there Varvur found himself eye to eye with Eno Hlaalu. Though relatively young at 125, the current Grandmaster of the Morag Tong was already legendary. Rumour had it he’d made a tremendously fast rise to the top of the assassins guild, and there was even a rumour that he’d allowed the former Grandmaster, already getting on with age, die peacefully in a remote location rather than killing him as was the custom. Such rumours had of course never been proven.
“Hello Varvur; I knew you’d come here sooner or later. I hope my thrall has not inconvenienced you in any way?”
“No, thank you, master Hlaalu,” Varvur had always been taught it’s better to show politeness to a snake when you entered its den then risk its wrath, “But your thrall could do with some more lessons in how to better sneak.”
“Yes, I’ve been telling him that myself but young people today have a hard time listening.” Varvur listened as he looked over the room. It was very plain, with very few things in sight. Almost everything in it seemed to have a function except perhaps one thing. In a corner Varvur saw a magnificent enchanted cuirass. It was obviously crafted from heavy material by the looks of it and very out of place in the room of a warrior who spent his entire time training for speed.
“Yes, a magnificent cuirass, wouldn’t you agree Varvur? It’s actually an artefact, the Lords Mail. It was given to me as payment for a….. recent service. Of course that is all I can say about that.”
Varvur nodded. “So, you’ve come here looking for the murderer of lord Nerevar have you? You’ve come to the wrong place. No Morag Tong member killed lord Nerevar. Not many people know of this, but he and I made an arrangement. He would allow us to remain, doing what we do, for the guarantee that each time there was a council meeting, every member of the Morag Tong was accounted for and inside either this headquarters, or one of the chapter houses in the great cities. After the murder I immediately summoned the local heads, and all the members that night were accounted for. So you see, we could not have done it.”
“Why would lord Nerevar make such an arrangement with you master Hlaalu?”
“I guess he did not want to have to worry about anyone falling over dead during a council meeting. Though I guess in the end, it was not enough.”
Varvur believed him; one could say a lot about the Morag Tong, but they were definitely not liars. Their honour code prohibited it.
“But then if the Morag Tong was not responsible, do you have an idea who was?”
Eno looked Varvur over first before he said, “No. I cannot give you the name of the murderer, but I can give you the name of one who might know. Belwen, a Bosmer and clothier in Mournhold has long been believed to be either a member, or an informer of our Sithis-worshipping cousins. He might not be the head of the snake, but at least he might be able to tell you where to find it.”
Varvur saw Eno looking at him slyly, head of the snake, either a coincidence, or Eno had known what Balen Sarethi had said to him. Varvur assumed the latter and it made him shudder with unease.
“Now before you go Varvur, a word of advice: be careful what you do once you’re in Mournhold. Some of my thralls call me the master of birds, after a hobby of mine. I enjoy listening to the songs of birds, and the past week those songs have not been good. They sing of death, of people being murdered, of the undead moving in vast numbers across the land to Mephala knows where, Great Houses being rearranged, old alliances broken and new ones popping up everywhere. Some might say we have an exciting time ahead of us, but to people who make their living off of covert deaths, I think the coming time will be dangerous, and trying. Now leave Varvur, and don’t come back. If you are wise, stay out of our path, for when next you meet the Morag Tong, there might be more then a thrall waiting.”
As if on cue, the young thrall entered the room again and bound the blindfold over Varvur’s eyes. He was carefully lead back through the corridor, and out of the headquarters. When they were back in the storage area, the thrall asked to have the Grandmaster’s seal back, promised to deliver it again onto the hands of Grandmaster Eno, and disappeared into the shadows. Upon consideration, Varvur thought the thrall might not have been as inexperienced as he’d wanted him to think. With that thought and everything Eno had told him, he set out to find Asciene Rane to inquire about transportation to Mournhold.
Of course Varvur knew of whom Eno had been speaking. The Dark Brotherhood, once a part of the Morag Tong, who ages past had broken off from the Morag Tong and started their own assassins guild. It quickly became little more then a death guild though, abandoning the worship of Mephala, led by a legendary creature called the Night Mother, they now sought the favour of the dark one, Sithis. The Dark Brotherhood in recent years had crossed the path of lord Nerevar three times, first sending a single assassin, then sending no fewer then three assassins when lord Nerevar disposed of the first. He did the unthinkable though and actually faced and defeated three Dark Brotherhood assassins. After that second attempt he felt the world, or at least Morrowind, would be a better place without them. As the story goes, he travelled by himself to Mournhold, found the Dark Brotherhood beneath the Great Bazaar and killed them to a man, even going so far as to kill one of the famed speakers of the Dark Hand. That was a feat few people could honestly claim.
In recent years no Dark Brotherhood member had shown itself in Morrowind, and their lair beneath the Great Bazaar was long empty, but all knew that was no assurance that the Brotherhood really was gone. If this Belwen was in fact a member, then the Brotherhood had once again found some nerve. After having arrived in Mournhold, Varvur wasted no time in finding the shop of Belwen. He spent a few hours first observing the store from a distance, and when it was growing late and Belwen was just about to close up for the evening, Varvur entered the shop. A look of recognition crossed the face of Belwen and he immediately went for something underneath his desk. But Varvur proved even faster as he drew his blade and put the very tip of it square through the throat of the Mer.
His instincts proved correct, as below the counter Varvur found both a crossbow aimed at the door, and what appeared to be an explosive device. He assumed Belwen would have tried to use the bolt on him first, and then if that had failed, he would have blown himself up before answering any questions.
Such a Dwemer explosive device was very hard to come by, and very expensive, an indication that Belwen had been more then a simple lowly operative, and more than a mere spy. Varvur locked the door of the shop from the inside, and went on a careful search through the house. During that search he came very close to setting off traps on several occasions. The first was a book he opened to see if there was something hidden inside and the book was connected to a wire. It was all he could do to duck in time for the crossbow bolt to barely miss him. And when he found the hatch leading down to the basement of the shop, two of the stairs were rigged and below there were a number of very sharp, and most likely poisoned spears waiting for anyone not alert enough.
In the end, his search proved successful at least, for on a table in the basement of the shop Varvur found a note sent to Belwen.
Last message received in good order. No new orders. Fafnir will collect your next report as scheduled. If you must reach him, it’s the same location as always, Imperial City, Cyrodiil.
Mother is pleased.
L.L.
How careless, Varvur observed, to mention an operative by name like that. It must be someone very low on the list for them to care so little about his identity. And that last line obviously referred to the Night Mother. If this L.L. knew how she felt about him, he or she must be someone who could take Varvur to her. And he had a feeling this Fafnir would be able to tell him who L.L. was.
On to the next chapter