The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl, chapter 2, part 2

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."

"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," it whispered, "is a hand worthy of carrying me. What glory we shall bring, we'll sweep a bloody swath across the continent, bring terror and ruin..." 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.

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 prot�g�e 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."

"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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

(c)2005 OverrideB1

On to the third chapter