Practice of Telvanni Magic: Chapter 11, Grasping Fortune

• Posted by Karver the Lorc June 5, 2017 - Filed in TSC: Mixed - #Straag Rod  #Lissette  #Karver  #Practice of Magic  #Grulmar  #Telvanni  - 1,936 views

  

  House Hlaalu Philosophy of Trade

   

  If you want to understand the essential philosophy of House Hlaalu, examine its coat of arms. Behold the scale: it represents balance, trade, and compromise. These essential concepts influence everything the House seeks to accomplish and directs its activities.

   

  Strive for balance in all things. When the scale tips to one side or the other, someone or something gets short-changed. When someone gets short-changed, unpredictability and strife unbalance the world around us. This idea must be embraced by every member of the House. To achieve freedom from greed, from want, and from strife, all parties in any exchange must find balance.

   

  Trade is the House's weapon, its tool, and its way. The House thrives when value and profit flows between supply and demand. House Hlaalu seeks to maintain open trade with anyone who would engage in honest business. Not even a lowly Ashlander with gold or goods in hand would be turned away. This policy protects and empowers the House. The greatest defense remains a wall built of gold, and many foes have broken against the profitable walls of House Hlaalu.

   

  The most honorable conclusion to any conflict is compromise. When two parties seeking balance come together in any exchange, compromise becomes the natural conclusion. Anything can be achieved if both the left hand and the right hand work together. Not everyone is reasonable, however. Sometimes others must be coaxed into compromise. For that, the House Hlaalu Guard stands ready.

   

  2nd of Evening Star, 4E 203

   

  Their steps raised small clouds of ash into the air and Venhen's stick was burying deep into it, offering very little support for his crippled leg. He was cursing under his breath and when Neriila tried to support him, he pushed her away with his right hand, nearly falling to the ground before she caught him by the elbow. “Fucking ash,” he growled, sticking the walking stick under his left arm and opting reluctantly to lean against Neriila for support.  

   

  He knew she was only trying to help, mostly because she was taught to respect him and support him. For a second, he tried to recall what would he do if he was young again and in her position. Most likely ditch the old mer and leave him for dead. He sighed and then spat on the ground. Well, be glad it is as it is.

   

  Neriila was his grand-niece, grand daughter of his long-deceased brother. If he remembered correctly, she was slowly approaching an age when she could be married. He was thinking about that young lad from Retheran family of Great House Redoran from Ald'Silgrad. They didn't have much, Retheran being mostly a small house, but if he managed to broker a deal with Retheren's urman, he would be a step closer to raising his own House from the dust.

   

  It was his goal since the Red Year, passed on to him from his father. It wasn't easy for Hlaalu. For centuries they were at the top and then they suddenly weren't. Most didn't know how to cope with that, when no one took them seriously anymore. The majority of the trading arrangements were broken, passing them on to Great House Sadras, who was barely capable of handling all the serious business. Fucking spies and and information dealers. So Venhen began working to expand the influence of House Ules.

   

  The business with the Cammona Tong was prosperous as always and suddenly, the reason why he was shunned from House Hlaalu became the reason why House Ules had fared much better than all the other minor Houses. And slowly but surely, Venhen started buying the favor of other Great Houses by marrying his children into them.

   

  It wasn't exactly unprecedented, but still, very unorthodox. Most of the Houses didn't want anything to do with a remnant of Great House Hlaalu, but Venhen expected that. So, he started small, with poor clans, offering enormous dowries if the daughters of House Ules would be accepted into other Houses. And it worked. Sometimes, he even accepted daughters of other Houses into his own and so the Ules family became much more significant over the years. It was a slow, patient work and he knew it wasn't really for him, but for his children. A hope that perhaps House Hlaalu will rise once again. Or maybe Great House Ules, eh?

   

  He looked at Neriila, realising his thoughts had gone on a tangent. She was a good velk, trained by Venhen's velvyn in everything that the modern offshoots of Hlaalu needed to survive in the ever-dangerous politics of Morrowind. He carefully selected her, from among his numerous grand daughters, because he was already fond of her...temper. Yes, she needed to be restrained quite often, but when she was unleashed… Oh, boy. Absolutely worth it.

   

  “Sho tell me, velk,” he said out loud, getting her attention and her narrow red eyes turned to him. “Raven Rock. How doesh it work?”

   

  “What precisely do you want to know, urman?” she asked.

   

  Venhen frowned at that. Sometimes younglings were so annoying with their different way of thinking. Venhen had the opportunity to talk with contemporaries very rarely now, but it was always somewhat soothing to talk with people who were capable of following the same line of thought as him. If they weren’t senile by now,  of course. But on the other hand, the younglings had their own way thinking that could be annoying, yes, but also very refreshing; offering a different perspective. “You very well know what I want to hear, velk. Sho shpeak. Raven Rock? How doesh it work?”

   

  Neriila was silent for a second, thinking about where to begin and he approved. Some things weren't meant to be done in haste. “First are the commoners of Raven Rock,” she began. “Mostly simple folk, apparently ex-miners or children of miners that worked Raven Rock's ebony mine. Since the mine dried up they started mainly focusing on fishing and little bit of farming. Most of their stuff is for themselves, however, some goes to the town's leadership and the rest ends up in the club.”

   

  “Shomething elshe?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and the Dunmer girl frowned, thinking. She then nodded, realizing what she missed.

   

  “Yes. Prospectors. Most of them are prospectors, looking for another natural resources on Solstheim. Valuable gems and also the Red Mountain stones. Some are also hunters, of course.”

   

  “Of courshe. Now who do they shell their shtuff to?”

   

  “There's a smith in Raven Rock, an alchemist, an owner of the club and a general wares merchant.” She then narrowed her eyes, thinking on how to continue. “Let's start with the smith.”

   

  “Alright.” Vehnen nodded. “The shmith.”

   

  “I've watched him while you were inside the Council Hall and noticed that he knows how to work with bonemold and quite well, if I may say. True rethar.”

   

  “Intereshting, go on.”

   

  “He buys minerals from the prospectors, shapes them into weapons. Who is he selling them to though? To Raven Rock's guard mostly, but I suspect a lot of it is being exported. The Dunmeri weapons to Skyrim, delivered by the Northern Maiden, and Nordic weapons to Morrowind, delivered by the Gar Skarr. He probably doesn't make a big profit from that, because Dunmer are not so interested in Nordic weapons and Skyrim is still under the care of the East Empire Trading Company, which means heavy taxes.”

   

  “Yesh, very good. Do continue.” Vehnen acknowledged.

   

  “The alchemist. She pays for ingredients and exports them to both Skyrim and Morrowind. Solstheim has the features and flora of both lands, so she profits quite well from both. Plus, I imagine, she must be sort of a town healer, selling potions to the locals from the ingredients they bring. Mixing the potion doubles the raw price no doubt. Who's next?”

   

  “The owner of the club,” he answered with his best ‘I am an old, wise urman” nod.

   

  “Ah, yes. He buys fish and food from the locals, as well as ingredients. He has to brew his beverages from something, and importing the things required for that from Morrowind would be costly, but not without the possibility of making a profit from it. So yes, that's it for the club owner. Now the general wares merchant...” She tapped on her lower lip while Venhen waited for her to continue. “He's importing things from the Mainland. He must have a contact there, buying slightly under price and selling things like beds and similar items to locals. Also, I think it's he who's buying the valuable raw gems and oddities and then selling them back at Morrowind.” Neriila paused for a second, mulling over the next step.

   

  “The counshil?” Vehnen pressed. Oh, he wanted it all.

   

  “Of course. They collect money from taxes, of course. Pay the guard, supply them with weapons.” Her eyes then widened. “Of course, how could I forget. I think they're also importing materials from Mainland, commissioning the smith to supply the guard. There can't be enough smithing materials on the island. I also noticed a Temple and, I imagine, most of the Temple's income comes through donations. Which must be low, but plenty.”

   

  “What makesh you shay that?” the old mer asked, raising his eyebrow.

   

  “The people of Raven Rock have this strange desperation about them.” The velk replied.

   

  “Ah,” Venhen chuckled, amused. “Nishe obshervation. Thish ish where we come to the mosht important thing.” He winked at Neriila, enjoying her confused look. “The Orc. What can you tell me about the Orc? You payed him the protection money after all, even though it was indirectly. Which wash very clever, my velk, if I may shay.”

   

  “The Orc,” she murmured, thinking. “He's collecting protection money from the shopkeepers. Definitely. I think, he might be leaving the common folk alone though. Only the prospectors pay for his protection, right? I might be cooking with plain water here, but the Orc has the bandits on his side.”

   

  “Well done!” he exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. He wasn't really expecting the girl would figure that out, but she did and that spoke volumes about her observation and deduction skills. “What elshe?”

   

  “He's lending money. Big time. Everyone in the town owes him, including the Council. He has the guards in his pocket too, which means the guard's captain isn't really happy about it. Thus...he must have some serious dirt on the captain. But why would the Council allow this, beside owing him money?” She then smiled. “I think, as you would say, uncle, he's holding the Council by the balls. He did something for them which they are eternally grateful for. I wouldn’t be surprised even if he somehow cut off the Redoran Council’s support, so that Raven Rock has no choice but to rely on his money.”

   

  “Yesh. He shtopped a plot intended to asshasshinate Morvayn. Killed the Morag Tong, killed alsho the conshpiratorsh.” He then sighed. “Apparently, our idiotic dishtant coushin, Vendil Ulen, ushing the aliash “Sheverin, losht the patienshe and went through hish plan after all. Moron.” He grumbled. Wouldn’t have been the way I would’ve done it, old Ulen.

   

  “So they owe him their lives and their money. And he slowly drains them of their money and then they ask for more and he lends them again.”

   

  “Hehehe. He'sh shitting on the town like a duck on a golden egg.”

   

  “Shitting?” she asked with confusion in her voice.

   

  “Not shitting,” he frowned, cursing his missing teeth. “Shitting. Like...lapping on hish arshe.”

   

  “Ah, yes,” she nodded. “And the Orc most likely smuggles things to Solstheim too, right? Illegal stuff from black market and such. I have no doubt everyone wants him dead, but they can't do it, right? Because he's the pumping heart of Raven Rock. He's what is keeping the town afloat after the mine dried up, while at the same time, slowly draining its wealth.”

   

  “You shurprishe me, girl. Well done, well done indeed,” he chuckled.

   

  “But now tell me, uncle. You did know all this before we went here, right? You were just testing me,” she murmured, not looking him in the eye. It was bordering with impudence, because he felt the undercurrent of her question. “Did you really know all this?” Well...he deduced lot of it, just as Neriila did, with only one look at Raven Rock.

   

  But the truth was: “Cammona Tong hash been keeping an eye on Solshtheim and the Orc for shome time. Sho yesh, my nieshe, I knew all thish before we jumped on the boat bound to Solshtheim.”

   

  His eyes scanned the beach, hoping they wouldn’t see any of those Ash Spawn he had heard about. They weren't that big of a problem back on the Mainland, but he heard that Vvardenfell was crawling with those things - or something very similar to them. He heard whispers about Dagoth Ur coming back once again, but Venhen didn't really believe that. There's no Dagoth Ur without Blight storms. His gaze then fell on a shipwreck upon the beach and what seemed like a camp with a palisade set in the ash around the wreck. Figures were walking along the wall and on the ship, or warming themselves next to a campfire and Venhen pulled his cloak closer to his body.

   

  The end of the year wasn't really warm on Solstheim, and he immediately wished he could warm his old bones by the fire. He had only a rough idea how long will their journey would last and staying by the night at the campfire seemed like pleasant prospect. He shrugged and steered Neriila towards the shipwreck.

   

  “Uncle?” she frowned, not sure why he changed the direction.

   

  “Piratesh, velk. I alwaysh liked piratesh,” he chuckled. “Do you think we will find piratesh down there?” he pointed with his chin towards the shipwreck.

   

  “They look more like bandits,” she retorted, which made him frown. The girl was most likely irritated by his recklessness, but she was forgetting the bigger picture.

   

  “Yesh,” he nodded and calmly continued: “Who are mosht likely working for the Orc. And you paid the protection money.”

   

  “And if they are not?”

   

  “Then you can kill them all, of courshe,” he grinned and she narrowed her eyes. “Where’sh your shenshe of adventure, my velk? Piratesh, beveragesh, women to plunder, and shipsh to rape. Or wash it the other way around?” Younglings. Not everything is about intimidation and drawing blood. Sometimes if you want to throw someone off balance, all you have to do is come closer. He didn't say that out loud, because he wanted her to figure it out on her own, to learn a lesson in that. And so they walked in silence towards the shipwreck, and Venhen noticed how the outlaws became suspicious as they were getting closer.

   

  Before they reached the shipwreck, those bandits were already nervously standing in front of the palisade, with a big Dunmer in a mix of chitin and bonemold armor standing at the gate, bushy brows so deeply furrowed they nearly covered the red eyes beneath them.

   

  “That's close enough!” the leader shouted at them, but Venhen wasn't stopping, slowly shambling towards them. “What do you want?”

   

  “Jusht curioush,” Ules waved  in greeting. “You don't happen to be piratesh by any chance, eh?”

   

  The outlaws exchanged confused and amused looks and the leader raised his chin in challenge. “No. We're Reavers.”

   

  Venhen chuckled. “Oh, good. For a shecond I thought you were banditsh. Good thing there'sh nothing to reave here, right?” The outlaws just shook their heads in disbelief as the old mer was still coming closer. Venhen very well knew what was going on in their heads. Just an old mer, maybe even senile, walking right up into their camp. He was supposed to be a victim, under normal circumstance, but they already got the word from the Orc that the old mer is under his protection. “Well, you could rape my nieshe here, though. But you are Reaversh, not Rapersh, right?”

   

  The leader frowned. “Are you mocking us, old mer?” He then licked his lips and grinned at Neriila. “If you don't scram, we might actually rape the girl. The boys haven't had a proper lady in a long time.”

   

  “Hey! What about me?” one of the female Reavers shouted.

   

  “You hardly count as a lady, Syndtha,” another of the Reavers laughed. “You give to anyone for free.”

   

  “Fuck you!”

   

  “Yes, please.”

   

  The Reavers laughed and the leader growled. “Shut up, you lot!” he shouted at them and turned back to Venhen and his niece. “Seriously, you two get lost, before you get hurt. We're in a good mood today as you can see-”

   

  Venhen waved with his hand in dismissal and hobbled between the Reavers towards the campfire. They were reaching for their weapons, but their leader stopped them, which earned several confused looks from his gang. If you want to throw them off balance...get closer. “We paid your bossh, you won't do anything to ush,” Venhen chuckled and sat down next to the fire, releasing an exhausted sigh.

   

  “Don't know what you are talking about,” the leader growled as he and his men now stood in circle around Venhen and his niece. “We'll hurt you-”

   

  “And why would you do that?” Venhen interrupted him. “Eshpecially when you can earn more by not harming ush. Here, shit down next to me, velk.”

   

  One of the Reavers chortled. “Shit down next to me,” he repeated, erupting in laughter.

   

  Venhen grinned at that. “Nothing wrong with shitting next to each other, right?” To that, the whole company chuckled and their leader just spread his arms in capitulation. Yes, that is right. Why even bother, eh? “But ash I wash shaying, me being unharmed ish more profitable for you than me being dead. Would you like to hear more?”

   

  The leader scowled, but he sat on the other side of the campfire, his every move screaming of resignation. It must have been tough for him, being a bandit and all,  and yet unable to rob or kill an old mer walking right into his camp. But Venhen knew how to put the poor mer out of his misery. “Talk,” the leader said and Venhen noticed how his men were carefully waiting for the offer.

   

  So he cleared his throat and grinned with his nearly toothless smile. “Then gather around, children, becaushe grandpa will tell you a shtory.” He then looked at the Reaver laughing at his lisp. “And it won't be about shitting.” More laughter. “No, it will be about a ship.”

   

  “A ship?” the leader asked, with raised eyebrows.

   

  “Yesh, a ship. Shee, the thing ish that there will be a ship shailing along the Sholshtheim's shouthern coast in two daysh. And that ship ish full of beveragesh, shkooma and moon sugar.” He paused for a second, letting it sink into their skulls. They were outlaws, wanted by the law and what they didn't steal from the still warm corpses of others, they didn't have. And there weren't any trade routes on Solstheim, no one to trade with, so no merchants to rob. “And that ship will be looking for a plashe to drop anchor,” he continued. “Where to unload its cargo, shell it under prishe, then shail away and return again in few weeksh. And without a proper shignal it won't anchor.” He looked into every Reaver's eyes and smiled. “I get that you are getting thish shtuff from your bossh for all the people you don't rob, and that ish very nishe. I think you are doing a fine job at that, fine job indeed. But do you have enough booze to let off the shteam when you want? I think I'll repeat what I shaid before. Shelling the shtuff under prishe. You all know what that meansh, right? You can then shell it to other fine highwayman on the island. Make profit. Who wouldn't want to make a profit, right?”

   

  He saw how the Reavers' faces lit up with the prospect of that, everyone looking at the leader, waiting for his decision. But it really wasn't his decision anymore. Venhen knew that, the Reavers knew that, but the question was if the leader knew that. The only decision he had to make was whether he wanted to live or not, quite simple. Unless there was some stupid pride in him which made him believe he could whip his men back into line. The leader frowned at Venhen.

   

  “The boss won't like it,” he growled.

   

  “That'sh perfectly fine. I undershtand. But he doeshn't have to know, am I correct? It'sh not like you're robbing him or shomething. You're jusht letting off shome shteam. Or earning a little extra money on your own. Nothing wrong with that. It’sh all about balancshe.”

   

  The leader shook his head in disagreement. “That's not how it works. If he finds out…,” he sighed and looked at his men. “You know what happens. He comes and kills a few of us while the others will have to watch. That's what you want? Him coming here with his flail and fucking smile? To-”

   

  His speech was cut short when it turned into a gurgling sound. The Dunmer in leather armor standing right behind the leader buried a knife into the Dunmer's neck, and then pushed the dying mer on his back, ripping the knife out, and burying it right into his brain through the eye socket. The now new leader of the Reavers then straightened and eyed his comrades for a few seconds and then faced the old mer. “We accept the offer.”

   

  “Shplendid,” Venhen clapped. “Now, could thish old mer get a spare blanket? It'sh freezing out here.”

   

  He noticed Neriila staring at him and he winked at her. She just hook his head in disbelief and then flashing a big smile back at him. “You didn't tell me about the ship,” she said and he just shrugged at that.

   

  No one needs to know everything, he thought, flashing a toothless smile at his niece and she avoided his gaze. She was still learning and if Venhen was right, she was just now realizing the lesson.

   

  Don't doubt me, velk.