Chapter 18. Staring into the Halls of Sithis
It wasn’t a very pleasant trip for Varvur. Lucien said very little, and what he did say seemed to be for the sole reason of mocking the young Dunmer. Lucien rode on a steed as black as the night, with eyes as red as Varvur’s. Just looking at the animal would tell you there was something unnatural about it; it was definitely not of this world. The road they were travelling was bland, a standard highway like so many in this province. They were moving south, though Lucien had refused to tell him where they were heading. They had set out at first light, and it was after noon when on the horizon, Varvur saw the tall walls of a city.
“Bravil,” Lucien explained, “the city of Regulus Terentius, who recently boasted to the other nobles of Cyrodiil, of how little crime there was in his city when compared to others. The snob actually thinks it’s because of him that so many thieves are afraid to settle there. If he only knew the real reason.”
Another laugh followed. Much could be said about Lucien, Varvur thought, but none could call him grumpy.
The horse Varvur had ridden was housed in a stable near the gate to Bravil, but he noticed that Lucien did not stable his steed there but rather simply let him loose. Varvur assumed the steed would come back to Lucien whenever he needed it. Upon entering the gate, they turned left and walked a small ways along the outer wall until they reached a very humble looking home, one that looked exactly like all the others. Lucien knocked, in what Varvur thought might have been in a certain way, and the door opened. Inside Varvur saw a Bosmer, who looked so much like Belwen one might have thought he’d come back from the dead. The Bosmer saw him looking and observed,
“Heh, don’t wo’y I ain’t no ghost now, and Belwen ain’t su’vived that swo’d of you’s.”
Belwen was me brother, though Sithis known he was good fe’ nothin.”
This Bosmer was speaking with a terrible accent, Varvur wondered how he could ever go unnoticed.
“The name’s Ungolim, an don’t ye be thinkin of callen me Ungo o’ some so’t. Now then, me lady says you got a question fo’ me? Go ahead, speak boy.”
“Was the Dark Brotherhood behind the attack on lord Nerevar?”
“Yes, if ye’e speakin on the two bungled killin’ attempts.”
Varvur considered that answer. Ungolim must have been trying to evade the question.
“No, I mean are you the ones who poisoned the comberry juice of lord Nerevar and killed him?”
“Eh, sma’t lad. No we didn’t kill ‘im, no’ do we know who did. We t’ied to kill ’im twice, and twice failed, then he kill’d so nea’ly all ou’ men in Mo’’owind, no ‘tis neve’ wise to go afte’ someone th’ice.”
Varvur felt his hope slip away. Why would the Brotherhood lie about such a thing? They would more likely boast at having been able to offer such a splendid soul to Sithis; no it had to be the truth, but then did that mean he had come to Cyrodiil all for nothing, done what he did to Fafnir all for nothing, still with no answer to this mystery? Varvur felt like despairing, but wanted to assure himself he’d gotten all he could from Ungolim before he left again.
“Well, if the Brotherhood is not responsible, then surely you must know who was.”
He saw Ungolim looking at him slyly when he responded. “Aye, sma’t lad. We might know, yes we might. But I can’t tell ye.”
Varvur reached for his blade, determined to draw it and force these two to answer him, but before he could draw, there was a knock on the door. Lucien opened the door and three hooded, robed figures walked in. They all looked at Varvur, and one of them said,
“What is the meaning of this? Who is this, Ungolim, and what is he doing here tonight?”
“Nothin ye need conce’n ye’self with Mathieu, o’de’s of the mothe’. You see young master Sarethi,” and all of a sudden every trace of the accent had left Ungolim, “I know not why, but our mother herself has ordered me to take you to her. So in a few hours time, we will go to her.”
Varvur felt foolish; he should have known no one who talked as oddly and recognisably as Ungolim would have been able to reach such an exalted post within an organization like the Dark Brotherhood.
“Will she tell me who killed lord Nerevar?” he asked Ungolim.
“Aye lad, she might, she just might do so.”
Waiting for several hours, in a house together with 5 master assassins, proved to be quite an experience. Just watching their eyes might have been enough to pass the time. He saw Ungolim sit still the entire time; he appeared to be in some sort of trance, his eyes closed and his legs crossed. Lucien had taken a book and sat himself right in front of the door, where he appeared to be reading quietly, but every now and then would look up at either Varvur or at the man Ungolim had called Mathieu. If there was one person there who did not appear to be an assassin, it was that one; while his body betrayed little to nothing, his eyes spoke volumes. He was constantly moving them, as if nervously trying to see everything he could. And the eyes themselves seemed as if there was some madness behind them. The other two people there, a man and a Khajiit, were quietly speaking to each other in a corner of the room. Varvur noticed them glancing his way from time to time, but not often.
The church clock had just tolled midnight, when Ungolim opened his eyes. “It’s time,” he said. Everyone stood up, and followed Ungolim out the door. Varvur walked right behind Lucien, followed by the three others. They walked back the way they had come into the town, but turned left towards the church. Next to it Varvur saw a statue of what appeared to be an old woman. At the bottom of the statue was a plaque with the name on it, “Lucky Old Lady.” He wondered if this lady would give him luck in finding answers. Ungolim moved to stand in front of the statue, and started chanting in a strange voice. Slowly the statue started to change, the face that had first looked kind, slowly moved to an evil grin, the eyes that had been benevolent were now almost radiating cruelty. And as the statue had completed the change, it moved back a small bit, uncovering an entrance. Ungolim ordered everyone to remain there, saying the mother would only allow himself and Varvur inside, and anyone else trying to enter would die.
Ungolim moved down the stairs, and Varvur had no choice but to follow him. They entered what appeared to be a crypt. Spider webs and dust were plentiful. There was also a smell to the place, a smell one can only find inside a tomb, the smell of death, of rotting flesh, and more, it smelled of foul magic. At the far side of the crypt there was a tomb with the likeness of a woman carved on it, and scattered about the crypt were skeletons, some of adults, but also of children. And standing in front of the tomb, a ghost-like figure of a woman. Ungolim got on his knees and was about to say something when an otherworldly voice came from the ghost, “Leave us!” It was almost amusing to see how quickly Ungolim lunged out of the crypt again. If someone like that was so scared of this ghost, Varvur knew he had to be on his toes.
“So young one, finally you stand in front of me, after having killed a faithful servant, and a traitor. Yes, I call Fafnir a traitor; anyone who will betray the Brotherhood to an outsider is a traitor. And did you see them standing outside, my faithful black hand? Ha! They wouldn’t recognise a traitor if he jumped up and slit their throats. But you do, don’t you? Yes, you see what others don’t. Yet with all your wit, you’ve failed to see the solution to your mystery. And it has been there all along, right in front of you; you have all the clues, yet you do not see it. And why should I help you then?”
Varvur didn’t know what she was speaking of. Was she simply toying with him? Trying to make him feel bad? Or did she want to trick him into agreeing to something. He wasn’t sure, but he had to know.
“I am sorry lady, but I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know who killed lord Nerevar, please tell me.”
“So you really want to know? Fine then- you killed him Varvur.” And when she saw Varvur look shocked added, “Yes, you heard me. You killed him, and I killed him, and your father killed him, and Helseth killed him, and Vivec and Almalexia killed him, and Dagoth Ur killed him., Everyone killed him, and no one killed him. You really want to find the answers, you really want to hear more clues when everything is right there, fine then, to find the one you are looking for, hear my words and mark them well, for I shall not repeat them.”
Those who live die, and those who are dead return to life.
The man you are looking for went from the house of the old god, to the house of nature.
And the key to everything lies with those who never drown, in a place built by people far from home, in a land that did not want them.
“Now leave, before I change my mind and claim your soul for my lord Sithis.” And with that, the ghost of the Night Mother vanished. Varvur went over the words again, wanting to make sure he had committed them to memory and then walked out of the crypt. As soon as he emerged, the statue of the old lady started moving back again, covering the entrance to the crypt, and Varvur saw only Lucien remained standing near it. As the statue closed, Lucien came up to him and said,
“Well, I hope my lady has given you what you came for. Now, I’ve arranged passage for you back to Morrowind, and my lady bid me to tell you she knows of your other quest as well, but also knows there is no rush there. Apparently even gods will await the pleasure of a hero.”
He smiled at that, likely thinking he’d made quite a jest even though Varvur had little idea what he spoke of. He assumed others might get it.
Lucien had arranged for Varvur to be allowed to join a caravan, but this time he did not have to worry about guarding it against trouble, for he was an honoured traveller now, himself protected by guards. All the while back to Morrowind Varvur thought over this latest riddle. He didn’t understand the first parts, but did believe he knew what the last few lines meant. ‘Those who never drown;’ only Argonians never drown. And a place built by people far away from home, in a land that did not want them. Well, Ebonheart had been built by Imperials far from their home. So had Wolverine Hall and it was even further away. This could imply either settlement, he thought, but there were very few Argonians in Wolverine Hall, and an entire Argonian mission in Ebonheart.
The first town he came to in Morrowind was Kragenmoor, which was also the end of the Caravan; from then on he’d have to find other methods of transportation. When he arrived at Kragenmoor, however, the first thing he noticed was the amount of people there, many more then he had seen when he first left for Cyrodiil and that had not been that long ago. He also noticed more then half the people were either soldiers, or training to be soldiers. And the largest surprise came when he saw his father’s cousin standing at the center of town surrounded by a number of bodyguards.
He waved at him, and moved through the throng of people to stand before his relative,
“Hello uncle, what’s going on here?”
“Haven’t you heard yet? There’s a war between the Telvanni and their evil brood on one side, and Hlaalu and Dres on the other side. House Indoril is split right down the middle, with one faction siding with Dres and Hlaalu and one with Telvanni. Your father has declared Redoran neutral, but has ordered us to fortify all our towns. This close to Indoril territory, who knows what mistakes could be made, and what things could spill over. Go see your father if you can; he should be in Blacklight, when you can, visit him and he will explain everything. So sorry Varvur, but I need to continue here.”
“Of course uncle, thank you for the information, but first I must go to Ebonheart.”
With that Varvur took his leave from Balen. Varvur sought out a captain in Kragenmoor, and asked for a horse to carry him swiftly to Veranis Hall where he could catch a boat to Ebonheart.
He arrived in Ebonheart early in the morning, and went straight to the Argonian mission. Inside he demanded to see Im-Kilaya, the head of the mission. When the Argonian arrived, Varvur decided to waste no time. He was tired of searching, and it was time to get answers. So the moment he saw Im-Kilaya, he drew the Ebony Longsword, and pointed it at him,
“Argonian, you have 5 seconds to tell me what happened the night lord Nerevar was killed, or I swear to Azura, I will end your life.”
Surprisingly, rather then deny anything, Im-Kilaya burst into tears.
Honestly Serah, I did not know this would happen, I knew nothing of the poisoning, I only did what he asked because he was my brother, I could never imagine he would do this.”
Something wasn’t right here, Varvur knew, something was very odd.
“What do you mean your brother, what did he make you do? The truth now.”
“Of course, Serah. The day before the meeting, my brother came to me. He told me his master and master Baladas was planning a surprise for lord Nerevar, but that they needed someone to distract the room for just a moment, someone no one would hurt even though it was such an important meeting. He said the only man whom they would not hurt was the poor Jester. So he asked to stand with the Jester just outside the chambers, and make sure he entered at the right time.”
“Who is your brother, then?” Varvur asked.
“Serah, my brother is Vistha-Kai, warden of master Fyr.”
Baladas. Of course, that was the answer. Now the verses made sense. He who had once lived in a Velothi dome- ‘house of the old gods’, and now in a Telvanni mushroom tower- ‘house of nature. And that first line- ‘he who had died,’ perhaps that referred to Divayth Fyr, had he died? Who knows, no one had been around for centuries who knew him when he was younger, so who could say what had happened to him in his life.
Of course who could do a better job at covering their steps then two Wizard lords of the Telvanni. Then that must also be the cause for the civil war; Hlaalu and Dres must have found out Telvanni killed lord Nerevar, and it wouldn’t surprise Varvur if it turned out the Telvanni were also the ones who killed master Curio, perhaps even in league with Dram Bero.
Now, another choice presented itself to Varvur- where would he go first? Would it be Sadrith Mora, where half the Telvanni army was likely massing, or Tel Fyr, to battle what could be the most powerful Wizard lord in all of Nirn. In the end, considering the role Fyr’s warden had played, the choice was easily made.
On to the next chapter
It wasn’t a very pleasant trip for Varvur. Lucien said very little, and what he did say seemed to be for the sole reason of mocking the young Dunmer. Lucien rode on a steed as black as the night, with eyes as red as Varvur’s. Just looking at the animal would tell you there was something unnatural about it; it was definitely not of this world. The road they were travelling was bland, a standard highway like so many in this province. They were moving south, though Lucien had refused to tell him where they were heading. They had set out at first light, and it was after noon when on the horizon, Varvur saw the tall walls of a city.
“Bravil,” Lucien explained, “the city of Regulus Terentius, who recently boasted to the other nobles of Cyrodiil, of how little crime there was in his city when compared to others. The snob actually thinks it’s because of him that so many thieves are afraid to settle there. If he only knew the real reason.”
Another laugh followed. Much could be said about Lucien, Varvur thought, but none could call him grumpy.
The horse Varvur had ridden was housed in a stable near the gate to Bravil, but he noticed that Lucien did not stable his steed there but rather simply let him loose. Varvur assumed the steed would come back to Lucien whenever he needed it. Upon entering the gate, they turned left and walked a small ways along the outer wall until they reached a very humble looking home, one that looked exactly like all the others. Lucien knocked, in what Varvur thought might have been in a certain way, and the door opened. Inside Varvur saw a Bosmer, who looked so much like Belwen one might have thought he’d come back from the dead. The Bosmer saw him looking and observed,
“Heh, don’t wo’y I ain’t no ghost now, and Belwen ain’t su’vived that swo’d of you’s.”
Belwen was me brother, though Sithis known he was good fe’ nothin.”
This Bosmer was speaking with a terrible accent, Varvur wondered how he could ever go unnoticed.
“The name’s Ungolim, an don’t ye be thinkin of callen me Ungo o’ some so’t. Now then, me lady says you got a question fo’ me? Go ahead, speak boy.”
“Was the Dark Brotherhood behind the attack on lord Nerevar?”
“Yes, if ye’e speakin on the two bungled killin’ attempts.”
Varvur considered that answer. Ungolim must have been trying to evade the question.
“No, I mean are you the ones who poisoned the comberry juice of lord Nerevar and killed him?”
“Eh, sma’t lad. No we didn’t kill ‘im, no’ do we know who did. We t’ied to kill ’im twice, and twice failed, then he kill’d so nea’ly all ou’ men in Mo’’owind, no ‘tis neve’ wise to go afte’ someone th’ice.”
Varvur felt his hope slip away. Why would the Brotherhood lie about such a thing? They would more likely boast at having been able to offer such a splendid soul to Sithis; no it had to be the truth, but then did that mean he had come to Cyrodiil all for nothing, done what he did to Fafnir all for nothing, still with no answer to this mystery? Varvur felt like despairing, but wanted to assure himself he’d gotten all he could from Ungolim before he left again.
“Well, if the Brotherhood is not responsible, then surely you must know who was.”
He saw Ungolim looking at him slyly when he responded. “Aye, sma’t lad. We might know, yes we might. But I can’t tell ye.”
Varvur reached for his blade, determined to draw it and force these two to answer him, but before he could draw, there was a knock on the door. Lucien opened the door and three hooded, robed figures walked in. They all looked at Varvur, and one of them said,
“What is the meaning of this? Who is this, Ungolim, and what is he doing here tonight?”
“Nothin ye need conce’n ye’self with Mathieu, o’de’s of the mothe’. You see young master Sarethi,” and all of a sudden every trace of the accent had left Ungolim, “I know not why, but our mother herself has ordered me to take you to her. So in a few hours time, we will go to her.”
Varvur felt foolish; he should have known no one who talked as oddly and recognisably as Ungolim would have been able to reach such an exalted post within an organization like the Dark Brotherhood.
“Will she tell me who killed lord Nerevar?” he asked Ungolim.
“Aye lad, she might, she just might do so.”
Waiting for several hours, in a house together with 5 master assassins, proved to be quite an experience. Just watching their eyes might have been enough to pass the time. He saw Ungolim sit still the entire time; he appeared to be in some sort of trance, his eyes closed and his legs crossed. Lucien had taken a book and sat himself right in front of the door, where he appeared to be reading quietly, but every now and then would look up at either Varvur or at the man Ungolim had called Mathieu. If there was one person there who did not appear to be an assassin, it was that one; while his body betrayed little to nothing, his eyes spoke volumes. He was constantly moving them, as if nervously trying to see everything he could. And the eyes themselves seemed as if there was some madness behind them. The other two people there, a man and a Khajiit, were quietly speaking to each other in a corner of the room. Varvur noticed them glancing his way from time to time, but not often.
The church clock had just tolled midnight, when Ungolim opened his eyes. “It’s time,” he said. Everyone stood up, and followed Ungolim out the door. Varvur walked right behind Lucien, followed by the three others. They walked back the way they had come into the town, but turned left towards the church. Next to it Varvur saw a statue of what appeared to be an old woman. At the bottom of the statue was a plaque with the name on it, “Lucky Old Lady.” He wondered if this lady would give him luck in finding answers. Ungolim moved to stand in front of the statue, and started chanting in a strange voice. Slowly the statue started to change, the face that had first looked kind, slowly moved to an evil grin, the eyes that had been benevolent were now almost radiating cruelty. And as the statue had completed the change, it moved back a small bit, uncovering an entrance. Ungolim ordered everyone to remain there, saying the mother would only allow himself and Varvur inside, and anyone else trying to enter would die.
Ungolim moved down the stairs, and Varvur had no choice but to follow him. They entered what appeared to be a crypt. Spider webs and dust were plentiful. There was also a smell to the place, a smell one can only find inside a tomb, the smell of death, of rotting flesh, and more, it smelled of foul magic. At the far side of the crypt there was a tomb with the likeness of a woman carved on it, and scattered about the crypt were skeletons, some of adults, but also of children. And standing in front of the tomb, a ghost-like figure of a woman. Ungolim got on his knees and was about to say something when an otherworldly voice came from the ghost, “Leave us!” It was almost amusing to see how quickly Ungolim lunged out of the crypt again. If someone like that was so scared of this ghost, Varvur knew he had to be on his toes.
“So young one, finally you stand in front of me, after having killed a faithful servant, and a traitor. Yes, I call Fafnir a traitor; anyone who will betray the Brotherhood to an outsider is a traitor. And did you see them standing outside, my faithful black hand? Ha! They wouldn’t recognise a traitor if he jumped up and slit their throats. But you do, don’t you? Yes, you see what others don’t. Yet with all your wit, you’ve failed to see the solution to your mystery. And it has been there all along, right in front of you; you have all the clues, yet you do not see it. And why should I help you then?”
Varvur didn’t know what she was speaking of. Was she simply toying with him? Trying to make him feel bad? Or did she want to trick him into agreeing to something. He wasn’t sure, but he had to know.
“I am sorry lady, but I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know who killed lord Nerevar, please tell me.”
“So you really want to know? Fine then- you killed him Varvur.” And when she saw Varvur look shocked added, “Yes, you heard me. You killed him, and I killed him, and your father killed him, and Helseth killed him, and Vivec and Almalexia killed him, and Dagoth Ur killed him., Everyone killed him, and no one killed him. You really want to find the answers, you really want to hear more clues when everything is right there, fine then, to find the one you are looking for, hear my words and mark them well, for I shall not repeat them.”
Those who live die, and those who are dead return to life.
The man you are looking for went from the house of the old god, to the house of nature.
And the key to everything lies with those who never drown, in a place built by people far from home, in a land that did not want them.
“Now leave, before I change my mind and claim your soul for my lord Sithis.” And with that, the ghost of the Night Mother vanished. Varvur went over the words again, wanting to make sure he had committed them to memory and then walked out of the crypt. As soon as he emerged, the statue of the old lady started moving back again, covering the entrance to the crypt, and Varvur saw only Lucien remained standing near it. As the statue closed, Lucien came up to him and said,
“Well, I hope my lady has given you what you came for. Now, I’ve arranged passage for you back to Morrowind, and my lady bid me to tell you she knows of your other quest as well, but also knows there is no rush there. Apparently even gods will await the pleasure of a hero.”
He smiled at that, likely thinking he’d made quite a jest even though Varvur had little idea what he spoke of. He assumed others might get it.
Lucien had arranged for Varvur to be allowed to join a caravan, but this time he did not have to worry about guarding it against trouble, for he was an honoured traveller now, himself protected by guards. All the while back to Morrowind Varvur thought over this latest riddle. He didn’t understand the first parts, but did believe he knew what the last few lines meant. ‘Those who never drown;’ only Argonians never drown. And a place built by people far away from home, in a land that did not want them. Well, Ebonheart had been built by Imperials far from their home. So had Wolverine Hall and it was even further away. This could imply either settlement, he thought, but there were very few Argonians in Wolverine Hall, and an entire Argonian mission in Ebonheart.
The first town he came to in Morrowind was Kragenmoor, which was also the end of the Caravan; from then on he’d have to find other methods of transportation. When he arrived at Kragenmoor, however, the first thing he noticed was the amount of people there, many more then he had seen when he first left for Cyrodiil and that had not been that long ago. He also noticed more then half the people were either soldiers, or training to be soldiers. And the largest surprise came when he saw his father’s cousin standing at the center of town surrounded by a number of bodyguards.
He waved at him, and moved through the throng of people to stand before his relative,
“Hello uncle, what’s going on here?”
“Haven’t you heard yet? There’s a war between the Telvanni and their evil brood on one side, and Hlaalu and Dres on the other side. House Indoril is split right down the middle, with one faction siding with Dres and Hlaalu and one with Telvanni. Your father has declared Redoran neutral, but has ordered us to fortify all our towns. This close to Indoril territory, who knows what mistakes could be made, and what things could spill over. Go see your father if you can; he should be in Blacklight, when you can, visit him and he will explain everything. So sorry Varvur, but I need to continue here.”
“Of course uncle, thank you for the information, but first I must go to Ebonheart.”
With that Varvur took his leave from Balen. Varvur sought out a captain in Kragenmoor, and asked for a horse to carry him swiftly to Veranis Hall where he could catch a boat to Ebonheart.
He arrived in Ebonheart early in the morning, and went straight to the Argonian mission. Inside he demanded to see Im-Kilaya, the head of the mission. When the Argonian arrived, Varvur decided to waste no time. He was tired of searching, and it was time to get answers. So the moment he saw Im-Kilaya, he drew the Ebony Longsword, and pointed it at him,
“Argonian, you have 5 seconds to tell me what happened the night lord Nerevar was killed, or I swear to Azura, I will end your life.”
Surprisingly, rather then deny anything, Im-Kilaya burst into tears.
Honestly Serah, I did not know this would happen, I knew nothing of the poisoning, I only did what he asked because he was my brother, I could never imagine he would do this.”
Something wasn’t right here, Varvur knew, something was very odd.
“What do you mean your brother, what did he make you do? The truth now.”
“Of course, Serah. The day before the meeting, my brother came to me. He told me his master and master Baladas was planning a surprise for lord Nerevar, but that they needed someone to distract the room for just a moment, someone no one would hurt even though it was such an important meeting. He said the only man whom they would not hurt was the poor Jester. So he asked to stand with the Jester just outside the chambers, and make sure he entered at the right time.”
“Who is your brother, then?” Varvur asked.
“Serah, my brother is Vistha-Kai, warden of master Fyr.”
Baladas. Of course, that was the answer. Now the verses made sense. He who had once lived in a Velothi dome- ‘house of the old gods’, and now in a Telvanni mushroom tower- ‘house of nature. And that first line- ‘he who had died,’ perhaps that referred to Divayth Fyr, had he died? Who knows, no one had been around for centuries who knew him when he was younger, so who could say what had happened to him in his life.
Of course who could do a better job at covering their steps then two Wizard lords of the Telvanni. Then that must also be the cause for the civil war; Hlaalu and Dres must have found out Telvanni killed lord Nerevar, and it wouldn’t surprise Varvur if it turned out the Telvanni were also the ones who killed master Curio, perhaps even in league with Dram Bero.
Now, another choice presented itself to Varvur- where would he go first? Would it be Sadrith Mora, where half the Telvanni army was likely massing, or Tel Fyr, to battle what could be the most powerful Wizard lord in all of Nirn. In the end, considering the role Fyr’s warden had played, the choice was easily made.
On to the next chapter