Practice of Telvanni Magic: Chapter 10, Creaking Bones

• Posted by Karver the Lorc June 3, 2017 - Filed in TSC: Mixed - #Straag Rod  #Lissette  #Karver  #Practice of Magic  #Grulmar  #Telvanni  - 1,476 views

  

  Grasping Fortune

  by

  Serjo Hlaalu Dram Bero

   

  I am a councilor of House Hlaalu and chose to write this short guide for those who seek to understand us or join us. House Hlaalu is the most open and modern of the Great Houses. We are the only Great House who has embraced the irresistible tides of Imperial law and custom. And thus we have profited by the Empire's new policies, rising from obscurity as the Greatest of the Houses.

   

  In the great wind of progress, tradition cannot stand.

   

  The Redoran may surpass us on the field of battle, but when the dust clears, they will find themselves indebted to us. The Telvanni may know many arcane secrets, but they fight among themselves more than against each other, and they cannot adapt to the ways of the Empire. Ancient and powerful though a Telvanni wizard may be, no individual can withstand the march of history. The Indoril are loved by the people for their gifts and donations, but when the money runs dry, will the people remember? The Dres know how to make money, but they have not learned how not to make enemies.

   

  Grasp fortune by the forelocks. When you see your chances, seize them.

   

  When you see a chance to turn a profit, take it. But do not follow money blindly. There is value in reputation, more than many young Hlaalu realize. This value must be carefully balanced against the more tangible coins in any deal. Theft and murder are bad for business. You can steal from someone, but will he trade with you after that? You can't bargain with a dead man.

  There are many ways to do business.

   

  In House Hlaalu you must be fast and agile. You must be able to keep up with business and with the times. You must be able to speak quickly and convincingly. You must be able to trade with the best of merchants and make a profit. You must learn to protect your own property by securing it with hidden chests, locks, and even traps. And when confrontation is unavoidable, it is best to fight quickly in comfortable, light armors with short blades, or to fight from a distance with a marksman's weapons.

   

  Then, reader, would you seize this opportunity to join House Hlaalu? Would you have yourself be counted among the victors in the race for success? Then submit yourself for examination at the Balmora Council Manor. If you have the skills, you will be welcome. And if you have the will, you may serve House Hlaalu, and advance in the ranks, for above all things, House Hlaalu prizes initiative and ambition.

   

  2nd of Evening Star, 4E 203

   

  The whole journey was thoroughly unpleasant - truth to be told, the old Dunmer on board of the Gar Skarr, hated every single second of it. With each creak of the Dunmeri ship, his own bones creaked and the salty, chilling air of the Sea of Ghosts made them hurt as if Molag Bal's freezing nails were clawing right into his joints. But he suffered through it in silence, just as he learned to do so long ago.

   

  Just clench your jaw with the few remaining teeth you have, old mer, he thought and his hand scratched the bald top of his head. He noticed the sideway glances from the Dunmer sailors and he knew very well what they were looking at. He was nothing but skin and bones, his skin hanging so tight on his thin body that he had the appearance of a skeleton whose skin hadn’t rotten away yet.

   

  What remained of his hair was tied into a ponytail, a reminder of his youth spent among Imperials, and he was dressed in exquisite robes of vibrant gold and yellow, unashamed of who he was.

   

  He growled when he was forced to move his left leg because of the stinging pain. It wasn't really easy because of his crippled knee. Not to mention the crippled right arm as well. But he still didn't ask for help, even though it hurt like Oblivion. At least the pain reminds you you're still alive, old fool.

   

  “Are you alright, uncle?” a voice of a young Dunmer woman sounded next to him and he looked at his niece, with her charcoal-colored long hair hanging around her head, bright red eyes and, more importantly, her smile, with all her white teeth. His tongue involuntarily touched his few remaining front teeth and then he frowned at his niece - well, technically, grand-niece. Or something like that. I think I've lost the count over time. That happens when you slowly near the third century of your life.

   

  “What do you think, velk? Do I look alright?” he snapped at her. “I bet you jusht can't wait for me to die.” He scoffed at her look of surprise. “Oh, pleashe, don't pretend you're not looking forward to that. I bet you want that walnut cabinet of mine. Well, too bad, I think I've already left it to one of my many grandchildren.” He furrowed his brow. “Not sure which one though.” That was true, he really didn’t know which one. One of them...

   

  “That's not what I meant--”

   

  He waved his hand and chuckled, the sound rattling in his ribcage which triggered a cough. When he caught his breath, he released a gust of air out of his lungs and smiled. “You know what'sh great about being old, my dear? You can have a dinner with your children and grandchildren and you don't really have to give a damn about the shtuff they talk about, like marriage or shit like that. You can jusht lean to them and shay: ‘You know what I jusht did? I pisshed myshelf. You deal with it.” He then laughed out loud, realizing that what came through his remaining teeth sounded more like pissed my shelf. He then frowned. “Jusht remind me, which one are you again? Shavnshu or Rirareni? I can never tell. You all look alike to me.”

   

  “Neriila,” she murmured and then her eyes wend wide when she noticed him grinning. “You're making fun of me, urman.”

   

  “Of courshe I am, velk. I'm not shenile yet. I very well know what'sh your name, I'm jusht trying to figure out how much you want that walnut cabinet.” She pursed her lips at that and he just shrugged. Younglings. Has everyone in this Era lost their sense of humor?

   

  The captain of the ship then appeared and looked at the two Dunmer. “We'll be docking at Raven Rock very shortly.”

   

  “Well, about bloody time,” the old Dunmer muttered, extending his arm towards Neriila. “Now, be of shome ushe, velk, and help your urman on hish feet. Otherwishe thish bag of bonesh might shpill out on the floor.” She grabbed him by his arms and easily lifted him to his feet, handing him his ebony cane and he feebly clutched it in his healthy hand, leaning against it.

   

  His eyes were fixed on Raven Rock in front of him, the mix of Dunmeri and Imperial buildings, and then he sighed. Things have definitely changed since I was here last. And when was that? Early Fourth Era? Ah, yes. My punishment for the failure in the Imperial City. He just hoped that this time his stay wouldn’t be as unpleasant as the last time.

   

  The crew of the Gar Skarr, heading from Blacklight, wasn't particularly fond of their passengers. The captain was Redoran, after all. As well as everything else these days… But even a Redoran can change his mind with a little bribe. Still, however, the journey nestled among the goods heading to Raven Rocks was unpleasant. Yeah, you’ve already noted that.  

   

  When they got off the ship, they were immediately greeted by a Dunmer who had to be none other than the Second Councilor of Raven Rock. And Adril Arano, of all people. So boring now, the old mer thought when Arano looked him straight in the eye and recognition sparkled within their depths. I remember how he used to chase skirts here. There wasn't a single skirt on Solstheim he hadn’t looked under, hehehe.

   

  Who could forget me? The old mer raised his hand in greeting and flashed a smile with his few remaining teeth. “Adril, good friend. It'sh good to shee you again.”

   

  And Arano remembered him too apparently. The frown on the Second Councilor's face became much more prominent when he took a step back and turned around. “Guards! Escort this mer to council hall immediately!” He ordered.

   

  The old mer put on a confused look, but in his mind, he was laughing. How typical. “What have I done thish time?”

   

  It was a common truth that Redoran guards weren't very gentle when it came to escorting someone, but the old mer had to try really hard to suppress his laughter when the famous - or infamous - Redoran guards were clearly afraid to touch him. Maybe they think I will break, he laughed in his mind and grinned at one of the guards. “Thank you, thank you, young gentlemer,” he leaned against him, relieving some of the pressure off his crippled leg, and then tapped with his walking stick against the ankle of his right leg. “Ash you can shee, my leg ishn't what it ushed to be. You're making the Redoran guard proud.”

   

  The Second Councilor only shook his head in disgust and quickly walked towards the council hall, to let Councilor Morvayn know about the recent turn of events. And he's probably going to paint it all black. So melodramatic, but that's the way good old Adril Arano always was.  

   

  “Uncle?” his niece peeped and he tapped the side of his head with the head of his ebony cane, like he just remembered something. But the truth was he was trying to save everyone's lives. Probably.

   

  “Ah, yes,” he rolled his eyes. “Where are my mannersh? Thish ish my nieshe, Neriila. Well, grand-nieshe more preshishely,” he pointed at Neriila with his cane while being walked by the Redoran guard. “Neriila, thish ish - what did you shay wash your name? Oh, never mind, I'll jusht call you ‘Redoran Guard’. Shoundsh very noble to me.” He just kept talking, hoping his niece would catch his meaning. His eyes quickly glanced over the Raven Rock's market and he smiled. Plenty has changed here. Then they reached the building and the guard knocked on the door. “Ash I wash shaying, Neriila ish my grand-nieshe and she hasn’t sheen a mighty Redoran Guard yet. Nieshe, how about you keep thish proud sholdier company while I talk with the Counshilor, hmm? Good girl.”

   

  With that, he entered the Imperial Building that served as the Council Hall to Raven Rock for some time. As he entered, he was greeted by the dim light of torches and several pair of Dunmer eyes watching his every frail and feeble move. His walking stick was loudly tapping against the stone floor, closely followed by his crippled leg dragging behind him. Tap. Shhh. Tap. Shhh. Tap. Shhh. Tap tap tap. You are so noisy, but you love it. He cheerfully hit the ground few times before bowing to Morvayn, his bones cracking loudly.

   

  “Oh, for the name of Black Hands Mephala, end the drama already,” the Councilor barked at him, clearly annoyed. “And stop bowing, before you break your back, old mer.”

   

  He slowly narrowed his eyes, a grin playing upon his face. “Drama, your exshelenshy?” he asked innocently, making sure his lips were quite prominent, mocking the word excellency, but mocking it innocently, without showing he was actually enjoying it.

   

  “Yes, this whole innocent, old mer drama,” the Councilor growled. “Just because you look like you're about to die at any second doesn't mean you are untouchable by the law of this realm. What gall you have, showing up here after what happened.”

   

  The old mer raised his eyebrows in surprise. “And what exactly happened here?”

   

  “Severins tried to murder the Councilor!” Adril Arano shouted at the old mer, pointing his finger in blame. “They hired Morag Tong.” Morvayn gave Arano a scornful look for his outburst and the old mer's eyes blazed with amusement.

   

  He began laughing out loud, shocking everyone.

   

  “So you admit it?” Councilor Morvayn frowned at him, but he just raised his hand to tell them to wait while he kept laughing and coughing - mostly coughing in the end. It ended with loud gurgling sound as a big portion of phlegm stuck in his throat finally came out and he could spit it out on the floor. Everyone looked at the yellowish white, thick glob, disgusted and shocked at the same time and he raised his hand, clutched in a fist, with the forefinger raised.

   

  “Firsht: Don't know any Sheverinsh. Are they from uncle Medrel'sh shide of family? Shecond: I probably didn't like them anyway. Third: Even if they really hired Morag Tong to murder shomeone...sho what? Ash far ash I'm aware, Morag Tong ish shtill legally shanctioned organization in Morrowind and Raven Rock ish Morrowind'sh territory. Plush, the Houshesh were employing Morag Tong for thoushandsh of yearsh.” He then stopped in thought. “Sho you probably hired Morag Tong to retaliate, right?” After that he got only stares and his eyebrows shot upwards. “Wait, thish ish preshioush. You executed them? Jusht becaushe they were-”

   

  “Hlaalu!” someone shouted from the entrance, just as the door opened with loud bang and an Orc dressed like a merchant strode inside. “Did I hear right? Hlaalu in Raven Rock?” His eyes then fell on the old mer and frowned. “Wait. You've got to be kidding me. This sack of bones?”

   

  “Sera Mogrul,” the Councilor Morvayn murmured. “Please, this is an internal matter--”

  
  “I see. Big party and I'm the party crasher apparently,” the Orc grinned and the old mer frowned in repulsion. How he hated those beasts! N’chow! Green skins! If he could pull another phlegm out of his throat and spit again, he would absolutely do it. It was an Orc that crippled him for life and he never forgot that. But that Orc in front of him...he had no place in the Council Hall, yet he was there. And “sera” even. A term of respect. He glanced at Morvayn and Arano, noticing their slight twitches and then he understood. You don't want the Orc here, but you can't throw him out. He's holding you by your balls with something. All of you.

   

  The Orc reached for the flail at his side, but then he let the hand slide and grinned at the old mer, flashing his tusks. “The wise-woman of my tribe always used to say that when there's a trash in your house, you don't talk with it, you just sweep it outside.” He then looked at Morvayn. “Maybe you could take that wise-woman's advice, Councilor. Hlaalu are nothing but trouble, and I think we're long past reminding you of that.”

   

  The old Dunmer just shook his head and stared Morvayn in the eye, completely ignoring the Orc. “Sho either the asshasshin had a legal Writ and you executed your shubjectsh for that or there washn’t a legal Writ and you executed your shubjectsh without a trial and a formal accushation of Houshe Hlaalu’sh actionsh. Jusht be glad I won't shend a formal complaint to the Grand Counshil of Blacklight about thish. I'm here only on family bushinessh, I'm too old for theshe petty shquabblesh anyway.”

   

  The Orc chuckled. “Look. At. That. Did you hear that shit? Someone has a serious lisp here.” He stepped closer to the old mer, putting his face right under his nose. “And guess what? It's not me. Hlaalu, my arse. Just be careful on this island, grandpa.” With that, the Orc left and the old mer smiled at Morvayn.

   

  “Now I shee who put an end to Sheverinsh,” he chuckled and the Councilor sagged after those words. “Sho, me being Hlaalu or not definitely won't be a problem here, I hope.”

   

  “This isn’t the first time House Hlaalu has made an attempt on my life,” Morvayn simmered.  

   

  “And it probably won’t be the lasht,” the old Dunmer chuckled, letting his old eyes twinkle. “We’re a petty bunch. But, unlessh you’re about to pull a proof of my involvement out of your arshe, there’sh bushinessh I have to attend to.”

   

  “What kind of family business could the urman of House Ules have here?” Arano blurted out.

   

  The old mer waved his hand in dismissal while he began shambling towards the door. “If there wash any patriach of Houshe Ulesh here he would probably shay that it'sh none of your damn bushinessh, Shecond Counshilor. But becaushe there'sh only me, Venhen Ulesh, one damn old Dunmer, I'll jusht shay: I think I need to pissh. You can't hold your pissh jusht ash good ash when you were young, you know. Oh, and how it burnsh when it finally comesh out. It'sh almosht like trying to pissh out an ash yam. Have a good day.”

  

  Mogrul was leaning against the wall of Retching Netch when the withered plum of a Dunmer walked out of the Council Hall and he narrowed his eyes when he said something to that new Dunmer girl who was flirting with the guard at the door. He watched them walk down the street towards the Bulwark and then through it outside.

   

  “We’re not going to make them pay, boss?” Slitter asked when he came to Mogrul’s side.

   

  The Orc didn’t reply and just watched the guard in front of the council hall with an intense stare. The bonemold helmet turned towards Mogrul and the guard immediately stiffened when he noticed the Orc staring at him. He then left his post and headed towards Mogrul. Good. For a second there I wasn’t sure if he was one of mine. But even if he wasn’t, he’d still know what to do.

   

  The guard stopped before him, handing him a heavy pouch and Mogrul grunted in approval. “The girl said they don’t want any trouble in Raven Rock,” the guard murmured. “That I can make that happen surely.”

   

  Mogrul grinned at the guard, baring his tusks which made the Dunmer shift, clearly making him uncomfortable. “And you just did, my friend. You just did. I really love it when people are loyal. It warms my heart so much.” He then leaned closer to the guard. “But tell me. You weren’t thinking about keeping the pouch weren’t you? Because that would be bad. There are rules, remember?”

   

  “N-no. I mean y-yes,” the guard stammered, not really sure which question answer first. “I didn’t want to keep it. I-I remember. The rules.”

   

  Mogrul knocked with his finger on the Dunmer’s helmet, grinning. “See that Slitter? I told you these helmets aren’t empty.”

   

  “Obviously,” Slitter sneered, making Mogrul chuckle.

   

  “Simple rules, yes. Break them and I’ll break you,” he said with a smile and then leaned closer to the guard again, whispering into where he thought his ear was: “But follow the rules and you’ll live like a king.” He reached into the pouch and stuffed several coins into the Dunmer’s hand, without really counting then. “Loyalty is rewarded. Have a drink on me. Or a whore. Now scram.”

   

  The guard shuffled away and Mogrul heard Slitter sigh. “Such a waste of money if you ask me.”

   

  Mogrul shrugged. “You know how it works, Slitter. You can’t just punish, you have to reward too. One hand takes, but the other gives. Just make the sheep believe that their life is not so bad and it can get better.” He narrowed his eyes and grinned at Slitter. “But if they fuck up…”

   

  “We fuck them up,” the Dunmer replied with the same grin. “Speaking of fucking,” he continued. “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that new chick. Or something other than my hands.”

   

  Mogrul shook his head in disapproval. “You'll have to drop it for now. She paid, remember? So for now, she and the grandpa are under our protection. We follow the rules too. It's important, right? If people see us not playing fair then we're fucked.” The Orc then rubbed his chin, watching the merchants on the street, his eyes resting on Mallory for a second. That turned out quite well. Keep up the good work, Glover. “We'll have to wait until they fuck up. And by the looks of that old mer it won't take long before he'll try to screw us over.”

   

  “What do you meant?”

   

  “Something about him doesn't sit well with me.” He chortled, winking at Slitter. “Let's call it a hunch, alright? He looks quite senile, but I think he's just acting. That chick is with him and while it looks completely fucked up, I think she's the muscle while he's the brain.”

   

  “The Hlaalu? That old fart?” Slitter shook his head. “You can't be serious. The guy looked like he's going to just drop to the ground dead at any second. Did you catch his name?”

   

  “Ules...something.”

   

  The Dunmer hissed as he quickly sucked in air through his teeth and then he whistled. “Well...shit.”

   

  Mogrul threw him a look, frowning. “You know him?”

   

  Slitter shifted and then scratched his balls, as if the itch just couldn't wait. Mogrul had to force himself not to grimace in disgust. “There's only one Ules that's so old. And that's Venhen Ules, patriarch of House Ules, formerly of Great House Hlaalu.”

   

  Mogrul's facial muscles twitched in irritation. “Look at you. Saying all these fancy titles as if I should fucking know what it means.”

   

  “Hey, easy, boss. Just saying,” the Dunmer raised his hands and shook his head. “That mer was here before you were born and before I was born. They say he's old fuck from pre-Crisis.”

   

  “What crisis?”

   

  The Dunmer shot him a look which for a second seemed like he was thinking Mogrul was completely dumb and Mogrul didn’t like that at all. “You serious? Oblivion Crisis! The fucker was already older than you when that shit storm hit. Thing is...I've got it from other people, some are reliable and some aren't.  Apparently he has some ties with Cammona Tong. No one was ever able to provef that shit, and trust me, Redoran tried. At least from what I've heard. And from what I've heard, he could be one of the big shots of Camonna Tong.”

   

  “No shit,” Mogrul growled, spreading his arms to get Slitter’s attention. “Look at me. I'm. Scared. Shitless. Seriously, I'm considering just running away after hearing this shit.” He spit on the ground at Slitter's feet and grimaced. “Camonna Tong, my green arse.”

   

  “So are we going to kill him?” Slitter dared to ask and Mogrul growled at him again, which made the Dunmer take a step back. “Alright, alright, I get it. They paid, they're good. For now. Should I send a message to our friends in the wilds to leave them alone?”

   

  “What do YOU think?” the Orc asked in a low voice, not really rasing, it, but it still did wonders.

   

  “That...I should send a message to leave them alone?” Slitter tried and when Mogrul didn't kill him right there on the spot, he probably guessed he was right. “Right. I'll probably do it right now.”

   

  You better, Mogrul thought and when the Dunmer ran away he sighed. Just more fucking problems. Only few months left to drain this dumphole and then you're out of here. But be careful right now. You might be king around here, but back in Morrowind it's different.

   

  So far, he had managed to keep Cammona Tong off his back, to play friends with them, but if Slitter was right,  the Dunmer could be more trouble than he expected. What's the worst case scenario? You kill him and Cammona Tong will have your head? Or that the Dunmer will try to take away the business you've set up here? He nodded. Yeah, that's probably the worst. Of course, he could offer a partnership to the Dunmer, but that would leave him only with half.

   

  And Mogrul didn't want to share. He wanted it all. All or nothing.