Ahzidal's Descent
by
Halund Greycloak
In the days beyond memory, when men first walked the lands of Skyrim, there arose in the city of Saarthal a great enchanter. As a boy, his gift for magic and artifice had been evident to his tutors. As a man, his skill surpassed them all. And finding nothing more to learn among his kin, he left wife and child, and set out to train under the elven masters.
A year became two, then three. And when finally his path led him back to Saarthal, he found only ruins: for the elves had sacked the city, and all that lived there were dead or gone. Amid the ashes, in the smoldering ruins of his home, he swore a terrible oath of vengeance. And from that comes the name the legends give him: Ahzidal, the embittered destroyer.
Alone, he could do nothing. And so, he bided his time, delving deeper into his art than any before him. From the Dwemer, he learned the seven natures of metal and how to harmonize them. From the Ayleids, the ancient runes and dawn-magic even the elves had begun to forget. Among Falmer and Chimer and Altmer he traveled, taking what he could from each, and all the while plotting how he might turn that knowledge against them.
Finally, word reached him of Ysgramor and his Companions, newly-arrived from Atmora. For three days and nights, he rode north, and met them as they made landfall on the icy coast near the ruins of Saarthal, which the elves had fortified against them. He offered the Companions his service, and all he had produced in his years of labor. And with Atmoran steel imbued with his enchantments, the elves fell before them, and at last he had his revenge.
But he was not content. His craft had become his life, and his hunger for knowledge still gnawed at him, driving him to delve ever deeper. At long last, he exhausted the lore of the elves, but it was not enough. He sought the secrets of Dragon-runes, and won for himself a seat among their high priests, but it was not enough. And at length, he turned his gaze to the planes of Oblivion, and found there both power and madness.
Some say he ventured there, never to return. Others, that he was betrayed by his fellow Dragon Priests, and killed, or driven into hiding in the ruins beneath his beloved Saarthal. Among the Skaal of Solstheim, it is said he fled to their island, and was sealed in the depths of Kolbjorn Barrow, together with the last of his relics.
But that is the tale, as it was told among the bards of Winterhold. Whatever the truth, the legend of Ahzidal was intended as a warning: in pursuit of perfection, one must take care that the pursuit itself does not become all-consuming.
11th of Evening Star, 4E 203
Mogrul propped himself up by his elbows, feeling the silk sheets on his naked body and he looked at the Dunmer female standing up and wrapping herself in a blanket to cover her nudity. The action made him shake his head. He didn't understand her sudden need to cover herself, considering what they were doing just moments ago, but on the other hand, he knew why she was doing it. She considered him repulsive and to her race, he really was, there was no doubt in that. She was a good actress, however, playing her part in the bed very well, making the right noises at the right times and definitely the right moves. Just the thought of that made his crotch twitch in lust.
“Come back, girl,” he rumbled softly and she glared at him, with those big red eyes flashing anger now. But she quickly hid it and looked away.
“My father will be wondering where I have been for so long,” Dreyla Alor whispered with caution.
Mogrul frowned at that and then he grinned, flashing his tusks at her. “True, true,” he nodded, which caught her by surprise, her whole face now betraying caution and worry. And he didn't want to keep her in suspense for too long, so he continued. “You're absolutely right about that. But, it makes me wonder, if your father isn't wondering about your and captain Veleth's meetings in the middle of the night?” He chuckled when he saw her eyes go wide and he laid back smugly, with hands under his head. “Oh, wait. I forgot. He doesn't know...yet. Also, does your precious Veleth know about these visits? So many secrets...”
“You're an asshole,” she hissed and he just grinned at the ceiling, then raising his head so that he could see her.
“I know, I know. Now back to bed, honey!”
“I'm doing all this to prevent everyone from getting hurt, one way or another,” she explained as she unwrapped the blanket and slowly crawled back to the bed, back to Mogrul.
“I know that too,” he murmured, not bothering to hide the lust in his voice, watching her every move and how the light reflected on her dark skin. She was lean, but strong and he liked that. Every Orc likes strong. “All the pain the truth could cause. They would disown you. Your father, out of great shame, would probably commit suicide-”
“And Veleth would kill you,” she purred in his ear as she sat on him, her still hot and sweaty body rubbing seductively against him.
“Maybe,” he grunted, grabbing her black hair tightly in his hand and giving it a hard yank. She hissed in both pain and pleasure. A very good actress, he thought and began pushing her head down, towards his-
“Boss?” a muffled voice sounded from the door of his bedroom, followed by loud knocking. Mogrul frowned and stopped Dreyla midway.
“What the fuck is going on, Slitter?” he growled, his lust slowly vanishing.
“Urgent business,” Slitter said from behind the door and Mogrul sighed. Business first.
He let Dreyla go and sat, his eyes searching for his clothes. “Get dressed,” he ordered when he bent for his pants. “Get dressed and get the fuck out. I'll send a word when I need to fuck again.” He pulled his trousers on and then frowned at Dreyla. “Oh, and darling? Use the back door. We don't want someone to see you, right?” He could see how she seethed and he loved that, giving her a smirk while she dressed.
Mogrul grabbed his tunic and walked out into the hall of what once used to be Severin manor. He barely noticed Slitter leaning against the wall and it just reminded him how screwed up a house under ground was. Everything was lit with candles and torches, with no natural light coming in, and Mogrul hated that. He was born under an open sky - literally, his mother gave birth to him under an open sky and so he just hated the idea of a house that was built under ground. But he didn't have much choice but to clench his jaws and survive it somehow.
“So what's so important that you had to drag me out of bed, Slitter?” he growled in annoyance, rubbing his eyes.
The Dunmer smirked. “If you were really sleeping I wouldn't have bothered you. Waking you up is much worse.” When he saw Mogrul's expression darken further, he quickly changed the subject back to the important stuff. “Ralis Sedarys is here to see you. Something about the loan.”
“Ralis Sedarys?” Mogrul repeated, thinking. “You think he's here to give me my money back? So soon?”
Slitter shrugged at that, not really caring about that apparently. “Maybe. Didn't want to tell me.”
“And where is he?”
Slitter pointed up the stairs. “Waiting outside the house.”
“More like a burrow,” Mogrul muttered, shaking his head in disgust. “So he's about to enter my lion’s den, eh?” the Orc smiled. “I like that. Shows that the Dunmer has some balls. Yeah, show him in. Down to that weird room,” he pointed to the door to the right of his bedroom. “What you Dunmer call it again?”
“A study.”
“Well, what a damn shitty name. What exactly am I supposed to study in there?”
“Ralis?” Slitter offered and Mogrul narrowed his eyes.
“Not a bad idea actually.” He nodded. “Alright, show him in.” He walked into that strange room, filled with bookcases and tables for reading, and sighed. What a pointless room. I'll have it remade into a forge or a larder, something bloody useful. He took a seat behind the long table and watched the door, thinking about Ralis.
Ralis Sedarys from Mournhold. The Dunmer showed up three weeks back, looking for some stupid Nordic barrow. And when he found it… well, he wasn't especially happy, considering it was buried under centuries of ash. So he came to Mogrul, asking for a loan, spewing some elaborate bullshit about Ahzidal and enchanting and artifacts and money - which was basically where he got Mogrul's attention. The artifacts could potentially get a considerable sum on the market and so Mogrul decided to give the Dunmer a chance. He loaned him one thousand golden drakes so that he could hire a few prospectors. He also learned that the first thing the Dunmer did was hire Teldryn Sero as his bodyguard for five hundred Septims. So the manpower Ralis needed for the excavation wasn't anything special, just few drunks desperate for money, so that they could afford to drink more.
It was a gamble from Mogrul's side, but one thousand didn't really hurt him all that much. There was a chance it could pay off and he could gain more or that it will fail. He would only lose a mere thousand. He didn't give it much thought yet, still waiting for how it would work out, but he was already thinking about the various angles he could go where he could make the situation work out to his advantage.
He could let Reavers steal whatever Ralis finds in the barrow, sell them, and then still demand his money back - which would probably garner the most profit, but there wasn’t much fun in that. He wanted the Dunmer to show him what was in it for him, Mogrul.
Or he could demand one of the relics as a payment with interest, to figure out if those relics were worth that much and then steal the rest from the Dunmer.
Choices, oh, choices, he thought with amusement.
The door then opened and Slitter walked in with the slim Dunmer in his wake. Ralis Sedarys wasn't really an imposing Dunmer, with his narrow eyes and brown-blonde hair standing on end like he like playing with lightning. There was a flimsy stubble on his cheeks and something that could possibly pass for a moustache and goatee if the Dunmer gave it several years to grow. He was wearing leather armor now, which was a change from the simple clothing he wore last time. After him walked Teldryn Sero - or at least Mogrul guessed it was Teldryn. The mercenary was always wearing his chitin armor along with a chitin helmet and as far as Mogrul could remember, he never saw Teldryn without it.
But more importantly, he was wondering why Teldryn still didn't let him know if Ralis had found anything. Mogrul expected Ralis to try to hide everything he found, so the Orc paid off Teldryn with current Morrowind currency in exchange for information. Golden Nerevars they were called. Coins with the head of Nerevar on one side and the hand - which was supposed to represent the Tribunal of Reclamations or some bullshit like that - on the other side. Two hundred and fifty golden hands was what Teldryn got - which was equal to about five hundred Septims. Morrowind's coins were just bigger, making them more valuable. Typical Dunmer, need to compensate for their shit cocks, Mogrul sneered to himself.
He realised he was lost in thought and flashed a grin at his visitors, pointing towards the chairs on the other side of the table. Ralis frowned and hesitantly sat down, while Slitter and Teldryn remained by the door, whispering something between themselves. Ralis threw them a look and Mogrul frowned, snapping with his fingers to get the Dunmer's attention. “Hey. I'm right here, Ralis,” he smiled. “And you don't want to ignore me, right?”
“No, of course not, sera” Ralis replied, forcing a weak smile. He’s not so good at acting.
“Good, good. Because I hate that shit,” Mogrul snorted. “You Dunmer are quite good at it, just like those High Elves. Just sticking your noses up and ignoring everyone crawling in the mud under your heels.” He then leaned closer, sporting a vile grin that made the Dunmer twitch. “But me? Well, I really like attention. I just love it. Clear?” Ralis nodded. “Great. So how about we start with some small talk, eh? How's the excavation going?”
The last question seemed to hit the bullseye because the Dunmer grimaced as if he was about to let out one juicy fart and Mogrul frowned. “That bad?” he raised his eyebrows. “Didn't find anything?”
“No,” the Dunmer shook his head, frowning. “I mean, no, we didn't find anything.” Mogrul's eyes darted towards Teldryn for a second and saw how the helmeted mercenary slowly shook his head. Mogrul then looked back at Ralis and forced himself not to smile. Good to see my money was well invested. Into Teldryn, I mean. You found something, Ralis, and you're lying about it now. Alright, let's find a way to bring the truth out.
“I mean, except undead. Draugr those Nords call them,” Ralis continued. “They killed all my workers. Which is kind of a why I'm here.”
Mogrul grinned. “Draugr you say? Awww, you have my condolences. Really breaks my heart that so many good people had to die. Good drunks too. The Retching Netch will miss them.” He then bared his tusks at Ralis. “Do I look like I really give a fuck about that? You paid Teldryn over there. Maybe you should pay him more to deal with the draugr too rather than to keep your ass from getting fucked.”
“We did destroy the draugr,” Ralis protested, looking at Teldryn and then he realized he was ignoring Mogrul and quickly turned back. “But it was too late. All the workers were already dead.”
“Don't. Give. A. Shit,” the Orc growled. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Well, the th-thing is th-that,” the Dunmer started nervously, grimacing as if talking was giving him pain. “That, uhm...I need, ehm...more money.”
Mogrul tried to keep his expression calm, forcing himself to grin. “More money you say? And how much would you like me to loan you this time? I mean, anything for a friend like you. Just tell me how much you need.”
The Dunmer raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked at Slitter, then at Teldryn, and then back at Mogrul. “Really? Well...alright. I'll need...two thousand Septims.”
“Alright, two thousand,” Mogrul smiled and then looked the Dunmer in the eye. “So with my previous loan that would be now three thousand you’ll owe me. A whole lot of money I would say.” He then rose from his chair and walked around the table, right next to the Dunmer, and leaned against the table, towering above Ralis. “Here's the thing, Ralis. I will gladly loan you this money, but you have to see it from my side of the table,” he chuckled and pointed at where he was standing. “Figuratively speaking. So yeah, right now, it's me who's giving and you are taking. And as I said, I would love to help you, but you see, I need something in return. I need you - what's the saying? - to meet me half way with this. So what can you give me. Ralis?”
The Dunmer nervously twitched and Mogrul leaned closer, waiting for an answer. “I...I don't have anythi-”
Mogrul hit the table with his fist, interrupting Ralis who jumped in his chair. Mogrul pointed at him and smiled. “See that? This isn't going to work. I'm really trying, Ralis, I really am, but all I get from you is this bullshit. It just stinks of it, really. Normally, at this point, I would take a few of your fingers,” Mogrul grinned and looked at his own hand, wiggling his fingers to emphasize his point, just enjoying how the Dunmer's face turned pale. He never got tired of that, how those dark-skinned elves could suddenly turn almost white. “But I don't really want to do that, you know? It would make me feel bad. So, are you sure you don't have something you could give me in return? Because as I said-”
“We found something!” the Dunmer quickly blurted out. “Boots, probably worn and enchanted by Ahzidal himself! They should be worth a fortune!”
“Ah,” Mogrul grinned and patted Ralis on his shoulder. “So you did find something. Alright, the boots should suffice. I'll loan you that extra two thousand. And listen, I'm really glad you met me half way, very polite of you. I appreciate that.” He then leaned closer, his nose nearly touching the Dunmer's. “But you lied to me,” he whispered, noticing how the fear was slowly crawling its way into the Dunmer's eyes and eventually his brain as Ralis started to realize his mistake. “And lying is bad.”
He grabbed the Dunmer's arm and pulled, putting it on the table, using his strength to pin it down. Ralis screamed in surprise and pain and Mogrul growled. “There are fucking rules! Simple rules!” He snarled as he extended his arm towards Slitter and the Dunmer handed him his knife. Mogrul flashed the blade in front of Ralis' eyes and whispered: “Rule number one: You don't lie to me. Number two: You don't steal from me.” He then raised the knife and watched how Ralis was starting to break, the tears running down his cheeks and so he raised his voice, nearly yelling. “And number three, the most important of them all: You don't fuck with me!”
The knife went down and the Dunmer screamed. Mogrul raised his eyebrows and then Ralis finally opened his eyes, noticing that the knife was buried in the table, between his forefinger and middle-finger. Mogrul laughed out loud, letting the knife go and patted the Dunmer on head. “Ah, I'm just shitting you! Ha! You should have seen yourself! Most likely nearly pissed yourself, I bet. I just had to spook you, couldn't help myself.”
“Y-y-yes,” Ralis stammered, trying to wipe the tears on his cheeks with his free hand, not brave enough yet to move the one that had the knife between the fingers. “Th-thank you, thank you.”
Mogrul just waved with his hand, like if it was nothing. Then he grinned at the Dunmer: “But seriously now.” He grabbed the knife and pushed its blade to the side, cutting off Ralis' forefinger. The Dunmer released a howl of shock and pain and Mogrul then kicked him in the chest, sending him to the ground along with the chair. The blood from the severed finger sprayed over Mogrul’s face, getting into his mouth, as well as covering the table and the floor. “You don't fuck with me!” he roared, wiping the blood from his face, and kicked the Dunmer in the ribs. “Get the fuck out and bring me the boots! Then you'll get the money!”
Teldryn picked Ralis up and dragged him outside of the study and then outside of the house. Mogrul frowned at the finger on the table and then grimaced. “Little piece of shit,” he griped.
“That went well,” Slitter dared to remark and Mogrul released a primal growl in his direction. The Dunmer raised his hands in surrender, taking a step back. “Sorry I said anything.”
“He really did piss me off with that,” Mogrul said in a low, hoarse voice, shaking his head. “Every time I begin to believe that people actually have some brains in their heads, they go and prove me wrong - and most of the time, it's your damn race.” He took a deep breath and then sighed. “Alright, I'm calm. Any news on that Orc?”
“Still holed up in that mushroom tower. A few of our people saw him and the other Dunmer from there head towards the ruined tower north-east from Fort Frostmoth. And they went back to Tel Mithryn.”
Mogrul grunted. “Hmph. Something about that Orc stinks. You think he's getting paid by that crazy wizard? Doing mercenary work for him?”
Slitter shrugged. “No idea. Maybe he's his apprentice too?”
The Orc raised his eyebrows and snorted. “An Orc? A mage? Learning from Telvanni? That would be messed up.”
“As messed up as Argonians enslaving Argonians for Dunmer?” Slitter offered and Mogrul frowned at that, actually agreeing with Slitter on that one. If Archein could sell their own people to Dunmer as slaves then why couldn't an Orc learn magic from a Telvanni Magister?
“Alright, I see your point,” he grunted reluctantly. “And the Dunmer? That grandpa?”
“Visited Tel Mithryn and then he just vanished, none of our people have seen him for several days.”
Raven Rock's kingpin grimaced. “Find him. I want you to find him. That fucking Hlaalu rat is up to something, I know it. And it certainly won't be anything good.”
My dear friend,
Please, don't be alarmed when you find this letter on your nightstand, along with a pouch full of gold. I urge you to keep this a secret, even from your bodyguard. Don't trust him, don't trust anyone.
This all sounds very cryptic, I know, but you have to trust me. I've been keeping an eye on your excavation and I realise that sending you out there without any backing - especially financial one - was a mistake on my end. I wish you to succeed, which is why I took the liberty to deliver a compensation for what you had to go through up to this point. Spend it as you will, but I urge you to be careful, do not spend too much of it at a time.
Just be careful around the Orc. I'll be close when you'll be in need of my assistance.
With regards and wishes of success,
Your friend from Mournhold
Venhen finished the letter, looking at it with a grin and then he glanced at Neriila, handing it over to her along with a big pouch, containing five hundred golden hands. “Would you be sho kind and deliver it to our friend Ralish? Preferably at night. And make sure no one ssheesh you.”
“As you wish,” she nodded as she left their hideout.
And Venhen just flashed his toothless smile.
Comments
Mogrul needs to be gone, though! xO
Heh, Venhen's like a leech in Mogrul's drawers. Tuskin' love it!
Heh, Venhen's like a leech in Mogrul's drawers. Tuskin' love it!
Get it? Get it?
Get it? Get it?