maybe wife can be ilmene dren. if you know enough about this you will know exactly why its so scandalous and good
I haven’t met her in game yet actually but I drew her because of the ask 💛 there are so many pretty women in Morrowind the options are endless.
I fear my type in women is “I can fix her” so Ranis Athrys projecting her trauma of the Telvanni Archmagister killing her parents by just casually telling me to kill mages not following her ideals is weirdly calling to me haha
author’s note: every character in here, aside from my ocs ku-vastei and llethym, and the made-up amiliah dren, is a canon character in-game, even down to the nameless “npcs”. i did a lot of research for this fic lol. some of them have different positions/roles than they do in game, mostly owing to the passing of time and intervening events, as well as some artistic liberty. i’ve been working on this fic for a long time, and it’s quite a bit longer than my usual work, but i’m very proud of it, and i hope you enjoy it as well!
- - - - -
“I hope you see the problem here, Mistress Darvasa.”
The Adebaal Egg Mine is dimly lit by glowing egg-sacs, which cast a grave light on Ku-vastei’s face. The new master of Tel Branora, Darvasa Vedas, is glad for her flowing robes, and the slight breeze passing through the tunnels, that her quivering before the Archmagister is not visible. An Argonian wearing a slave bracer tends to a nearby kwama worker, pretending not to listen.
“Yes, well, Archmagister, you see…” began Darvasa, “we had purchased them before the ban had gone into effect, so we had thought -”
“Do not lie to me, Darvasa,” whispered Ku-vastei, her voice like the steel in her hand. “I’ve seen the deeds of sale. Besides, the ban on slavery was retroactive. It is also emancipatory.” The nearby Argonian slave perks their head up slightly, unable to hide their curiosity.
Darvasa is no longer sure she can hide her shaking. “Yes, yes, of course, Archmagister, but we needed workers for the mine, as you well know it is a major source of income for the tower, and not long before Therana’s untimely death somebody freed the slaves who had been working here previously, so we needed -”
“Yes, I know,” says Ku-vastei. She leans back a little and places her free hand on her hip. “I was the one who freed them.”
The enslaved Argonian can’t help but turn their head towards the free Argonian, and completely forgets about the kwama worker. But their attention is stolen again when the worker headbutts them.
Darvasa’s jaw dropped. “Before the ban went into effect?”
“The ban retroactively justifies my actions.”
Darvasa’s eyes close. “What shall I do, then, Archmagister?”
“Either free the slaves, or hire them as hirelings to the House and pay them fairly for their labor. I care not which, but the latter would likely benefit you in the long run.” Darvasa opens her eyes, and can barely see Ku-vastei’s lips move in the darkness; she appears as a scaled statue, leaning on an ancient spear, meting out divine judgment upon the mortals of House Telvanni.
“But…” Darvasa begins, but quickly changes her tune. “Yes, Archmagister, of course. I will hire them to the House.”
“Ensure they are treated as any other member of the House, Darvasa. And if this happens again, know that I will kill you.”
“Yes, Archmagister,” Darvasa says, bowing too low in presumed deference.
“One more thing,” says Ku-vastei as she turns to leave. “Where did you purchase these slaves?”
Darvasa straightens into a stiff line. “Oh, please don’t make me say,” she begs. “They said they’d kill me if I did.”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t.” The Archmagister swings her spear in a small circle as she turns back, pointing it nonchalantly at Darvasa from a distance. But the physical threat isn’t necessary - the words themselves drip with such authority that the young Mistress can’t help but fear them.
Darvasa bites her lip and nearly collapses from how her legs shake. “Yes…yes, Archmagister. I bought them from…”
-
“Tel Aruhn?” Aryon asks as he and the Archmagister retreat to Tel Uvirith. “That’s impossible. We took care of the market there personally.”
Ku nods, remembering the bloodshed as a vivid red pinpoint in the recent past. “She wouldn’t say anything more.” She wipes ash from her eyes, kicked up from her shuffling through the dunes. “Apparently she had nothing to do with the purchase directly. We’ll have to investigate further.”
“You’ve shown unusual…restraint, in dealing with this so far, Archmagister.” Aryon walks ahead of Ku-vastei, proceeding backwards as he studies her face. His fierce brow furrows over his fire-red eyes. “You haven’t killed anyone yet.”
Ku smiles faintly. “We can’t be a House of murderers forever, Aryon. One of these days we’ll resolve most of our issues peacefully.”
Aryon grins, but there’s a concerned note to his voice when he asks, “Am I speaking to the true Hortator? Ku-vastei, bringer of fire and war?”
“In the times before slavery, Black Marsh operated similarly. War was an import from Resdayn.”
“I’m not sure history supports that claim,” Aryon says, returning to his place alongside Ku-vastei. “War is an integral facet of all cultures.”
“Regardless, perhaps it needn’t be.”
“Ever the idealist, Archmagister.” Aryon pats Ku-vastei on the back, but she doesn’t recoil from the touch. Strange future, she thinks, in which an elf - any elf - can touch my back without losing their hand.
-
When they arrive at Tel Uvirith, they are greeted by the Erabenimsun scouts who delivered Ku-vastei’s guest.
“Ilmeni Dren,” says Ku-vastei, bowing her head slightly. She glances at the Erabenimsun, who depart for their camp.
“Archmagister,” replies Ilmeni, who had been examining the fungal walls of the tower. She wipes her hands of the external dirt and turns to curtsy in the Imperial way. “Your reputation precedes you, both as Hortator and Ku-vastei, muthsera.” She says Ku’s name with a curious lilt, not quite the bizarre intonation of an elf attempting to speak Jel, but not quite the natural pronunciation of a born-speaker. It seems to suggest something beyond mere familiarity, but Ku-vastei can’t fathom what.
“As does yours, ‘lighter of the Twin Lamps.’ I hope we can work together to free Telvanni, and hopefully one day all of Morrowind, of the curse of slavery.”
“We’ll see, muthsera,” says Ilmeni, before turning to Aryon. Strange. That same hidden meaning. Oh well, Ku-vastei figures. I’ll discover it eventually. “And you are, muthsera?”
Aryon extends a soft, gloved hand. “Master Aryon of House Telvanni, oftentime companion to Ku-vastei. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Dren.”
“Oh, dispose of the pleasantries, would you?” Ilmeni smiles warmly, taking Aryon’s hand. “Nobody’s called me ‘Lady’ Dren in years. You can just call me Ilmeni.” She flashes a glance at Ku-vastei. “Or beeko, if it suits you.”
“Not so fast,” says Ku-vastei, returning a wry smile as she leans heavily on the Spear of Bitter Mercy. But hearing the Jel word disarms her slightly. She doesn’t feel the need to be quite so reticent around this particular Hlaalu.
“I understand not all is well in House Telvanni,” Ilmeni observes, taking a careful step back to lean against the wall of the tower.
“Yes. Why I’ve summoned you,” Ku says. “Not only has someone purchased slaves, but someone has been selling them, too.”
“Have you any suspects?”
“The buyer has been identified, and dealt with.”
“Dealt with?” Ilmeni narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. When Ku first met her, she wore commoner’s clothes, but she seems to have elected to dress for the occasion of meeting the head of a House, wearing a spotless blue robe.
“She’s still alive, if that’s what you’re asking,” chimes in Aryon before Ku can react. “She’ll be freeing the slaves soon, if she hasn’t already.” Aryon seems to understand the mystery behind Ilmeni’s attitude whereas Ku-vastei does not. She’ll have to ask him about it if they get a spare moment, away from the Hlaalu.
Ilmeni sighs. “And the sellers?”
“Someone in Tel Aruhn,” Ku-vastei grumbles. “The old slavemistress is dead, as are her compatriots. So we’re not sure.”
“Dead?” Ilmeni asks.
“Yes. I killed them.” Suddenly, it dawns on Ku-vastei, and she smiles wickedly wide, her reptilian face almost snarling. “Is that a problem?”
Ilmeni looks down and shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. “That is the way of the Telvanni,” she says, then, under her breath, “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“It is our way,” Ku says, not hearing quite what Ilmeni said but guessing the meaning, “and we’ll be sticking with it, for now. Just think of it like the Tong.”
Ilmeni looks up glumly. “I still don’t approve of the Camonna, no matter how reformed it may be under our new Grandmaster.”
“I meant the Morag,” says Ku-vastei. “I am Grandmaster of that order, after all. I know about honorable killing.”
Ilmeni gasps. “I thought Eno Hlaalu was Grandmaster?”
“Eno retired.”
Ilmeni steps forward. “Do you mean you -”
“No.” Ku raises a hand to stop the Dren’s advance. “He retired.”
“Oh.”
Aryon pinches the bridge of his nose. This is going to be a long day.
-
They teleport into Wolverine Hall’s courtyard with a crack as the air makes way for their presence. Aryon and Ku stomach it well, but Ilmeni wavers for a moment, then politely asks for a bucket. A nearby guard politely obliges. Aryon and Ku politely ignore her retching.
They walk slowly through Sadrith Mora, Ilmeni gawking at the mushroom homes, and at great Tel Naga. Some of the town’s residents give reverent bows to Ku-vastei, while others hide behind doors. As they pass near the Gateway Inn, they overhear an argument coming from the adjacent marketplace:
“I need these potions now!” exclaims a Dunmer, a mainlander from his lack of the coarse Vvardenfell accent.
Elegal, a Bosmeri trader Ku-vastei recognizes from her time spent in the city, smiles patiently and plants his hands on his table, his shoulders tightly bunched together. “Sera, I simply do not have any. You should have planned ahead.”
“But…I must have this potion! I have to see Master Neloth!” the Dunmer repeats, gesticulating wildly, exasperated.
“You could try the alchemist. Or apothecary. Or healer.” Elegal steps from behind his table and walks around to his irate customer. “I’ll even show you to one of them, if you’re lost.”
The mainlander quickly steps towards Elegal, shouting louder. “They won’t deal with me! Without your damn ‘Hospitality Papers’ that your Thrice-damned ‘Prefect’ won’t give me!”
Elegal smiles thinly. “Perhaps old Angaredhel doesn’t think you worthy of our hospitality,” he says, looking up at the Dunmer.
“You n’wah!” The Dunmer winds up his arm to sock Elegal in the face -
But something catches his wrist. A scaled hand firmly wraps itself around his cuff, keeping him from landing his blow.
“Oh,” he yells, spinning around, “and who is this animal laying hands on me - Oh.” He stops when he sees Ku-vastei, in her robes of Archmagister station, still holding onto his wrist. “Oh, by the Three.” He sways for a moment before his legs give way and he falls to his knees. “Please forgive me, Archmagister, I had no idea - I never meant to cause any trouble, I just needed to…” He stops his pleading, closes his eyes, and awaits his judgment, his hand still caught by Ku-vastei.
But something is gently placed into it, and his fingers pushed to wrap around it. He opens his teary eyes and looks blurrily up at Ku-vastei. “Archmagister?”
“Rising Force potion. Made it myself,” she says. “Apologize to this man, and then go do your business with Neloth.”
The Dunmer swears by every saint he can remember, thanking Ku-vastei and apologizing profusely to Elegal. Then he awkwardly walks away towards Tel Naga.
Aryon smiles, but Ilmeni wrinkles her face. “Not quite the Archmagister - nor Hortator - I’d heard tales of,” she whispers to him.
“She can be a gracious leader when she wants to be,” Aryon replies. “What kind did you expect?”
“I expect,” she said, quickly finishing her thought before Ku-vastei returns, “that we will find out today.”
-
Ku-vastei, Aryon, and Ilmeni pass through the circular gate at the Gateway Inn and proceed to the docks, where they charter a ship to cross the clear blue waters to Tel Aruhn. When they arrive, they are greeted warmly by Magister Endase Avel and a small entourage of her subjects, come to see the Archmagister of House Telvanni.
“Welcome, muthsera!” exclaims Endase, her yellow, red, and golden robes exquisite in the bright sun of the Zafirbel Bay. “It is a pleasure to have you here at Tel Aruhn, Archmagister Ku-vastei.” She spreads her arms wide with entreaty, then reaches out a hand. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
Ku-vastei says nothing, but glowers at the new Magister. Aryon picks up the slack: “We’re here for an inspection, Endase. To ensure that this tower is complying with the ban.”
Endase smiles. “Yes, yes, of course, Aryon. And you are?” She gestures vaguely towards Ilmeni.
Ilmeni opens her mouth to speak, but she stops after Ku-vastei shakes her head. So she simply says, “An associate of the Archmagister’s.”
Endase tilts her head curiously, but doesn’t prod further. “Very well.” She points in the direction the former site of the slave market. “I shall lead the way. You may inspect the underground, as well. I assure you everything is very above-board here at Tel Aruhn.”
As soon as Endase turns her back, Ilmeni wrinkles her face and leans in to Ku-vastei’s ear. “Don’t trust her. She’s a snake.”
Ku laughs quietly. “How would you know?”
“Plenty of people like that in House Hlaalu. Not hard to spot if you know what to look for.”
-
The inspection is spotless. No signs of slaver activity, not a single bracer to be found. There are even some Argonians and Khajiit in the honest employ of the tower. Ku-vastei seems satisfied. Aryon wears a patient smile throughout. But Ilmeni keeps her arms loosely crossed the entire time.
When all is said and done, Endase asks, “Could I trouble you with tea? You must be dehydrated after your long journey.”
Ku-vastei almost accepts the offer, but a subtle glance from Aryon persuades her not to. “No thank you,” she replies. “I have other business I must attend to here. Privately,” she quickly adds.
“Of course,” says Endase, whose painted face is marred by a slight frown. “Don’t let me keep you.” Then she casts a spell, and flies to her tower. The crowd disperses somewhat.
Ku-vastei turns towards her companions. “Well?”
Aryon says nothing, and turns towards Ilmeni. She shakes her head. “It must be offsite somewhere.” She looks around, as though she’d be able to see a hidden slave market at a glance. “Ask some of the locals. Especially the beastfolk. They might be more open to answering your questions.”
Ku-vastei’s eyes scan the scattering throng. Tel Aruhn is a diverse place, home to many different peoples, but few beyond tower-servants seem to be beastfolk. But she catches a pair of eyes unmoving, making direct eye-contact. Slitted eyes. She begins to push her way through the bodies, making her way to them.
She finds a smiling Khajiit, tiger-striped and -maned, his arms wide open. “Ah, yes, S’Bakha has been expecting you,” he purrs.
“Expecting me?” Ku-vastei does not yet take up his offer of a hug.
“Well, this one knows exactly what you are here for. It is not difficult to guess. S’Bakha was a slave once, you know. S’Bakha worked hard all the time, and for what? Nothing at all. So now that S’Bakha has dropped his bracer, he rests. He lays around and lounges until his belly rumbles, and then he finds a tasty fish to eat out of these bountiful waters. It is good to be lazy, S’Bakha thinks.”
(These waters are far from bountiful, Ku-vastei mentally notes, being filled with mostly-inedible slaughterfish, but allows the Khajiit to tell his lie as he sees fit.)
“That is good to hear,” says Ku-vastei when S’Bakha takes a moment to breathe, smiling. “But please get to the point.”
“Of course, Ku-vastei,” S’Bakha grants, dipping into a brief bow. “The point is that while laying around all day, people forget S’Bakha is there. Or they think him asleep. And they speak as if he is not there. Many secrets they speak, and S’Bakha hears them all.”
“And pray tell, what secret do you have for us,” Aryon asks, “and what will it cost us?”
S’Bakha turns to the newly arrived Aryon, and shakes his head furiously. “Wise you are, elf, to question S’Bakha’s motives. But S’Bakha asks nothing in return for his generous offer of help.”
He pauses for a moment, and Ku-vastei is about to prompt him again when he continues, leaning in to whisper: “S’Bakha’s secret for you is this. They are kept and sold at a place they call Nammu along the mainland coast to the west of here. Tell none S’Bakha sent you, or he will surely be killed.”
Ku-vastei rubs her chin in contemplation, her tail swishing leisurely from side to side, brushing against Aryon and Ilmeni’s ankles. “Oh,” she begins after some time, “I don’t think that will be a problem. Because you’re coming with us.”
“Eh?” S’Bakha spits, his fur pricking up and his own tail setting straight. “You know S’Bakha can’t swim like you Argonians, right? Not even like a dark elf. Not very…smooth.”
“Oh, that won’t be an issue,” Ku-vastei says with a wicked smile.
-
S’Bakha had expected she meant they’d be taking a boat. Instead they walk on the water like sainted thaumaturges, and S’Bakha takes each step tenderly, like each one might fall through the taut surface of the sea. But Ku-vastei and Aryon, confident in their spellwork, stride across like it was a well-worn road. Even Ilmeni has played with water-walking potions in her youth, and is accustomed to the feeling.
S’Bakha begins to wish he’d kept his mouth shut.
They stop at a couple of islands along the way to renew their spells and rest, taking shade against the midday sun under Emperor Parasols. S’Bakha frets with his tail, at times cradling it like a newborn.
“Worried, S’Bakha?” asks Ku-vastei, watching him intently.
“Yes, actually,” answers S’Bakha. “S’Bakha imagines it is quite difficult to laze about with his guts scattered around him.”
“You’ll be fine. Everyone who might come after you will be taken care of,” Ku-vastei says, while Ilmeni frowns at this phrasing, “before day’s end.”
“That is,” Ilmeni adds, “assuming you’ve told us the truth.”
Ku-vastei glances wearily at Ilmeni. “I’m sure he has, of course.” Her eyes glide over to meet S’Bakha’s, who shies away from the contact. “Haven’t you, S’Bakha?”
“Of course,” S’Bakha quavers. But he remains silent the rest of the way.
-
They come to the mainland coast just as their most recent spells wear off, and S’Bakha says, “Here.”
“Here” is a small pool of water, disconnected from the sea, interspersed with large stones breaking the surface. There is a small cliff on the far side, but its face is sheer. There is no apparent entrance.
“S’Bakha,” Ku-vastei says, “What are we looking for?”
“S’Bakha doesn’t know,” he says. “It should be here.”
“Well, it’s not.” Ku grips her spear tightly in her claws.
Ilmeni stands to the side and looks around. “Hm,” she whispers, and she takes a cautious step towards one of the stones in the pool. Her foot lands firmly on its surface, not sinking at all. So she steps towards the next, and the next, until she finds herself at the cliff face. Ku-vastei is busy arguing with S’Bakha, but Aryon notices Ilmeni’s stunts and places a hand on Ku’s shoulder. She spins around on him, nearly poking him with her spear, but he simply points towards Ilmeni, who is now running her hands along the cliff’s surface, searching for something.
“Is there anything there?” Aryon calls out. “Some button perhaps?”
“Not that I can find,” Ilmeni returns. “But it looks like there should be something here.”
“S’Bakha told you so!” the Khajiit exclaims, earning him a scathing glance from Ku-vastei.
“‘Should’ doesn’t mean that there is, Ilmeni,” Ku notes.
“Perhaps there’s some kind of illusion, or enchantment upon the rocks,” Aryon says. “Endase is a skilled enchantress, after all.”
Ku-vastei tilts her head in acknowledgement, and runs her claws in front of her eyes, leaving behind a pale purple glow which slowly dissipates.
When she can see again, plain as day, she sees a door embedded in the rock.
Ku-vastei treads the stepping stones towards the door, meeting Ilmeni there. She tries the doorknob, but can’t find it. “Yes,” she says, “an enchantment. Not an illusion.” She starts to rummage through her bag.
“Do you have a solution for this in there?” Ilmeni asks.
“Sometimes,” Ku begins, pulling out various items, “a sloppy enchantment can be undone by a spell similar to soul trapping. I’ve done it once or twice to even the odds in battle against troublesome belts and rings.” Finally she retrieves a soul gem, its azure surface almost completely transparent. “Ah. This should do. You may want to step back.”
Ilmeni complies, stepping out towards the edge of the pool. Ku-vastei first taps the soul gem on the surface of the hidden door, mutters something Daedric, then steps back, soul gem raised in the air; it seems like an incredible effort, like the wall is pulling against her arm. Violet flecks suspended in paler light are ripped from the cliff face and absorbed into the soul gem, revealing piece-by-piece the door hidden beneath, until all is laid bare, and the soul gem glows with a milky lilac light.
“Some enchantress this Endase is,” Ku-vastei snickers.
“So shall we take care of this?” Aryon asks, having crossed himself to the other side of the pool by the door.
“S’Bakha is not going in there,” the Khajiit says, waving his hands in negation. “The leader is a battlemage, called Galmis Dren, who is dark in the craft, and -”
“Galmis?” Ilmeni interrupts. “No, you are not ‘taking care of’ my cousin.” She remembers back to when she heard Orvas was killed by the fledgeling Hortator, and remembers how she imagined what it would be like if it had been her father, instead.
She steps forward to confront Ku-vastei and repeats, “No, you are not killing Galmis, like you did to his father. You can arrest him, like a civilized person.”
“Your ‘cousin’?” Ku-vastei observes with a smug smile. “Does slavery run in the family, then?”
Ilmeni says nothing, holding her ground as she steps towards Ku-vastei again, only inches between their faces.
“Ah,” says Aryon. “The late Orvas’ eldest son. A high-ranking member of the Camonna Tong, if memory serves.”
“This killing is the way of your people, Ilmeni,” Ku-vastei says, ignoring Aryon and placing a hand between herself and Ilmeni. “He chose his fate.”
Ilmeni stares furiously into Ku-vastei’s eyes for a long time, but finds no relief. So, her eyes wet from the strain of not blinking, she turns her head away.
“Since you two will be staying behind, we’ll need to make sure you’re well protected,” Ku-vastei says, smiling at her easy victory. “Aryon, your Helper will do the trick.”
Aryon nods and extends his right hand. His glove glows yellow for a moment, and then suddenly, in a cloud of xanthous smoke, a trio of atronachs appear, representing each Daedric element. “Protect Ilmeni and S’Bakha, please,” he asks of the three, who each wordlessly bow to the best of their forms’ ability.
“Do not follow us or try to interfere in any way,” Ku-vastei says as she holds the doorknob, glancing at Ilmeni, “or I’ll kill you too.”
“Ku.” Aryon rests a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off. “Let’s just get going.”
-
The cavern is dark, dimly lit by the rare sight of a torch ensconced on the stone walls. Ku-vastei takes the lead, Aryon following soon behind.
Not far down the initial corridor, their footsteps bring attention to them. “Hello?” calls a woman’s voice. “Mistress Endase? Here for your inspection so soon? I thought it wasn’t for another…”
The two delvers reach the bottom of a decline, revealing themselves to the Redguard. She yells something in what Ku vaguely recognizes as Yoku and draws her sword. Ku springs forward, launching herself at her attacker. The Redguard slashes at Ku, but only ends up cutting her robes and clattering against the fine Orcish maille hidden beneath. Her jaw drops in shock at this reckless defense, and Ku uses the opportunity to pierce her throat from between her teeth.
There’s another defender, a Dunmer archer on a raised platform to the right, who seems to have been caught off guard practicing her archery on a stuffed target. She yells something in Yoku, her accent poor even to Ku’s untrained ear, and draws her bow, pointing her arrow at Ku-vastei. But Ku-vastei ducks nimbly to the side and avoids the shot. The Dunmer reaches for another arrow, but can’t find one in her quiver. She runs to the target to retrieve more, but Aryon flings a fireball at her before she makes it halfway there. She stumbles, sways backwards, then falls forward against the practice target.
There’s a bridge from the raised platform that connects to another tunnel on the right, but Ku-vastei is more interested in the tunnel directly ahead of them. “Split up?” she asks Aryon. He nods, and begins climbing the stairs to take on the rightward passage.
Ku-vastei plods forward through the tunnel, quickly meeting another defender. He’s unarmored and armed with only a pitiful dagger, and she’s able to dispatch him with a swift thrust from a distance. She continues on before reaching a massive chamber, with a ceiling so high Ku-vastei can’t see it in the darkness. From the center of a small lake rises a massive pillar, wrapped around with stairs towards a platform near the top.
“Come and get me,” a voice calls out from the spire, “you n’wah!”
Ku-vastei obliges the request, sprinting to the top of the tower. She’s nearly out of breath when she arrives, and sees a man who can only be Galmis Dren, his face obscured by a Dwemer helm. He’s holding a Khajiit slave by the collar over the edge of the platform. He wags his free finger. “Think long and hard about approaching me, n’wah,” he says, and Ku-vastei can hear the wicked smile calling out from beneath the helmet.
Ku-vastei stops in her tracks for a moment, calculating.
She marches ahead anyway.
“Bad idea,” Galmis tuts, and lets go of the Khajiit, who falls screaming towards the water below.
Then Ku-vastei runs towards Galmis. He begins to cast some spell, but it misses as Ku-vastei runs past him, and leaps from the ledge into the darkness.
She dives, trying to catch up, but sees the terror on the Khajiit’s face as she plummets and falls beneath the surface of the water. Soon after Ku-vastei breaks the surface herself, and beelines her way to the bottom, where the Khajiit’s slave bracer has weighed her down. She wraps her arms around her frail furry body and starts to kick her way up to the surface.
Once she arrives, she swims over to the platform where she first entered the chamber, and lays the Khajiit on her side, letting her cough up water from her lungs. Finally, the Khajiit finds the energy to speak: “Thank you, muthsera.”
“Are you alright?” asks Ku-vastei.
“Yes, this one will be fine,” she says, before coughing up another bit of water.
Satisfied, Ku-vastei runs back up the tower, but does not find Galmis. She takes the short way back down and swims back to the platform where the Khajiit is. By this time, Aryon has arrived, accompanied by a small gaggle of assorted slaves.
“Aryon,” she begins, her entire body burning from the running and climbing, “Did you see him leave?”
“No,” Aryon says simply, tending to one of the slaves. “But I could have missed him.”
Then they both look at each other as Ku-vastei says, “Ilmeni.”
They run to the exit of Nammu, the slaves barely able to catch up, the Khajiit who nearly drowned supported by a couple of her fellows. But when they finally get outside, they find S’Bakha, the three atronachs, and Ilmeni, who sits against the cliff face with her hands covering her eyes, unscathed.
“Dammit,” Ku-vastei says. “He must have teleported.”
“Where to?” Ilmeni asks, sounding somewhat relieved as she stands up.
“Wolverine Hall, if he Divine Interventioned. Perhaps Vos if Almsivi.”
“Or,” Aryon notes, “he could have Recalled to a preestablished Mark.”
“We’ll never find him,” Ku-vastei says, banging the butt of her spear on the rock below, startling the slaves. She sighs and scratches her chin. “Did you at least find the key?”
“Yes,” says Aryon. “One of the others had it.” He hands it to Ku-vastei. “I think you should do the honors.”
As Ku-vastei begins to unlock each slave’s bracers, she mentions, “I need to speak with Llethym. He needs to explain why the Camonna Tong are bringing slaves to my House.”
“I suspect I should speak with the Grandmaster as well,” Ilmeni adds.
Aryon nods. “I’ll get in contact with your Mouth, Ku-vastei. He can arrange the meeting.”
-
“Fast” Eddie Theman, Ku-vastei’s Mouth, does indeed arrange an audience with Grandmaster Llethym Hlaarothan of House Hlaalu rather swiftly. After dealing with Endase and getting the tear in her robe mended, Ku-vastei meets him at his office in the Hlaalu Canton of Vivec.
She knocks on the door, and is welcomed in. There are two seats arrayed before a grand desk, behind which sits the Grandmaster. He’s a thin mer, who Ku-vastei knows is capable of a lot of second-story work and assorted illegality, as how else could he have reached his position in the House? Perhaps the Duke Vedam Dren thinks him a noble figure, but even nobles can be deceived. Possibly flattered by Bug Musk, or some enchantment, or simple Illusion magic. None of these are beneath Llethym Hlaarothan’s moral standards.
In House Telvanni, you tend to just kill off anyone who gets in your way. And that suits Ku-vastei just fine.
“Welcome, welcome!” bellows Llethym, startling his other guest, already sitting in one of the seats. She turns to see who has arrived, and -
“Ku-vastei!” Ilmeni Dren shouts, her face wrinkling in displeasure as she turns her head back slightly towards Llethym, but never breaking eye-contact with Ku. “This was supposed to be a private meeting, Grandmaster.”
“Nice to see you, too,” Ku-vastei says, smiling.
“Well,” says Llethym, smiling sheepishly, “I thought I’d knock two racers out with one stone.”
“I’m ever so glad you took our wishes into consideration,” remarked Ku-vastei.
“Plus,” Llethym adds, “I hear you two aren’t on the best of terms.”
“Says who?” say Ilmeni and Ku as one.
Llethym clasps his fingers over his desk. “I’m not one to reveal sources, of course.”
Curse Eddie, thinks Ku-vastei, and Aryon too.
“Listen,” begs Ilmeni, “I don’t think there will be any sort of ‘reconciliation’ between us. She tried to kill my cousin.”
“Ah. Galmis Dren, of course,” Llethym says, stroking his stubbly goatee, his eyes wandering. “Firstborn of Orvas Dren. And of the late Amiliah Dren. A charming woman,” he says, not elaborating.
“A wicked aunt,” Ilmeni mutters. “And a long dead one too, thank the Three.”
“Listen to you,” notes Ku-vastei, “wishing ill upon the dead.”
“At least I’m not a murderer.”
“You of all people should know what it takes to end slavery. Or were you too soft? What did your ‘Twin Lamps’ ever truly accomplish?”
“Much,” Ilmeni says, rising from her chair. “And it’s enough. Nobody had to die for it.”
“Slaves have had to die for it. And it is never enough, not until every slave is free.” Ku-vastei’s fingers twitch at her sides, tempting magic.
“You would start a war over this, like you did before,” says Ilmeni, her voice rising. “You know the Dres would never give in peacefully. And the Indoril would support their rights. It would be Vvardenfell against the mainland, and you won’t stop until any who oppose you are dead. Even after the terrible losses of the Arnesian War, you would do it all again, just to satisfy your bloodlust.”
Yellow sparks begin to apparate at Ku’s fingertips, her claws wreathed in golden flames. Llethym notices where Ilmeni does not, and says, “Now, now. Let’s be civilized here. Enough quarreling.”
Suddenly, there’s a loud crash on the door behind Ku-vastei. Then another, and a shout. Ku-vastei wisely takes a few steps back. Then another bang, and the door comes flying towards Ku-vastei, who catches it impaled on a summoned spear, catching on its kagouti-wings.
Behind that door is Galmis Dren, eschewing his usual robes for full battle armor, his full helm for his indignant face, and his axe for hands full of furious fire. Ku-vastei slides the door off her bound weapon so that she can see. “You again,” she says with a dramatic sigh. But her eyes are alight, and her entire body taut with energy. She jumps forward to strike, but even her conjured Daedric spear can’t penetrate his dense armor, scraping harmlessly to the side.
Galmis smirks. “You ruined my entire operation, n’wah,” he says, raising his flaming hands for the assault, “and you killed my father. And now, you die.”
Ku-vastei wishes she’d kept the door. She reaches out a hand with a ward, but she’s never been much good at Alteration. It’s a feeble aegis, and as soon as the blaze hits its violet surface, it begins to show cracks. She pours all of her remaining magicka into the shield, but it’s not enough. It explodes into a thousand scintillating shards, and the force of the blast pushes her back onto the floor, unconscious, sending her spear flying across the room.
Galmis steps forward, standing over Ku’s disarmed form, and prepares to land the coup de grace -
“Wait!” Ilmeni cries, reaching out towards Galmis. But to her surprise, Llethym is already up and standing next to him, placing his hand on Galmis’s Dwemeri pauldron.
“Son,” he says, “that’s enough.”
“Who are you calling son, ‘Grandmaster’?” Galmis tries to wedge a hand between him and Llethym, but seems to struggle in the armor. “I have no father. Not anymore.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Galmis,” says Llethym, his angular face turned unusually soft. “I’m sure you’re aware of the old rumors. That your mother Amiliah wasn’t always faithful to your father.”
“Lies,” Galmis says, still focused intently on Ku-vastei. “Nothing more.”
“They weren’t. You see, long ago, but not long before you were born, I met a charming woman. She didn’t call herself Amiliah Dren, but I knew -”
“Shut up!” Galmis cries. “This isn’t about you.”
“- I knew that she was Orvas Dren’s wife. Our love was brief, yet long enough to -”
Galmis turns towards Llethym’s masterfully paternal visage. “That’s not possible,” he says, his face contorted in rage and grief. “I know who my father is.”
“Did you never wonder why he hated you so? Why he treated you as least among his children, even though you were firstborn?”
Gears turn behind Galmis’s eyes, and his expression softens somewhat. “That’s not…no. I refuse to believe this!”
“Believe it or not,” Llethym says, placing a delicate hand on Galmis’s face, “you are my son. Have you never looked at yourself? How little you favor your ‘father’?”
Ilmeni, so enraptured by the scene playing out before her, notices something minute that few others would have. She notices a gesture behind Llethym’s back, a half-closed hand and then a pointing. Old Hlaalu sign-speak. Her father had taught her as a child. She closes her eyes, contemplating what he was asking her to do. But then she glances at Ku-vastei, lying on the ground unconscious, and knows she has to.
She slowly raises her right hand towards Galmis’s face, and lets loose a gout of bright blue flame.
He screams immediately, pulling back from Llethym and clutching his incinerated face. He starts to cast wildly, blindly, charring the walls and ceiling, but misses Ilmeni and Llethym entirely. His screaming slowly fades into pained croaking as he collapses to the ground, writhing in agony as he chokes on the smoke of his own flesh. Finally, silence falls, and all that remains of his face is a blackened skull, smoldering azure.
Llethym attends to Ku-vastei, helping her to stand as Ilmeni falls to her knees. She feels wetness on her face, and reaches up with her hand to discover her eyes as the source. Llethym explains to a shell-shocked Ku what had just happened, and Ku thanks the two of them for saving her life. But Ilmeni doesn’t reply, staring into the far distance over her shoulder and trying very hard not to look at Galmis.
Llethym approaches her, kneels beside her, and places a hand on her shoulder. “You did the right thing, Ilmeni,” he soothes. “He was going to kill Ku-vastei, and probably you and I, if you didn’t intervene.”
“I didn’t know you knew magic,” Ku-vastei says, keeping her distance.
“My family is blessed by Azura,” Ilmeni says. “Skips a generation. Landed on mine. And his.” She glances towards Galmis, but quickly averts her eyes and looks up at Llethym. “How did you know?”
“I wasn’t lying to Galmis,” Llethym says. “I am the boy’s father. So I know a thing or two about the Drens.”
“Don’t you feel any remorse at all?” she asks, incredulous. “You just had me kill your son.”
“I never knew him as my son,” Llethym says simply. “Why should I have some special attachment to him?”
Ilmeni looks at Ku-vastei, who shrugs. “You’re both the same,” she says, “aren’t you? Or is that kind of callousness just what it takes to lead?”
“In a sense,” Ku answers.
“But we still care for the people we serve,” Llethym adds. “Enough even to kill for them.”
Ilmeni shakes her head, but begins to understand anyway, and wishes she didn’t.
“Ku-vastei,” says Llethym, “if you please. Tell an Ordinator there’s been an incident in my office, and that we have a corpse that needs removing.” Ku-vastei nods and leaves the room. The Grandmaster returns to his seat at his desk, and sips his tea. “Stinks to high-heaven in here.”
I have a suggestion for the six fanarts! Maybe IlmenI Dren planning and working with other Twin Lamp members as they plan to do a rescue? Love your work! Have a great day/week!
Here she is! I love doing characters like this that you never hardly see art of! Thank you @gwynbleidd892 for submitting! I appreciate you and all of the tags you leave on my work!
Sorry it took me so long to get to it lol I got caught up in tesinktober but now that I’m behind on the prompts I figured I would go ahead and get this out of the way :)
