#telvanni

My Altmer Nerevarine. Thank you elder scrolls for making me want to do art again.

“Delivering Mail By Cliff Racer, or: How To Make Your Enemies Suffer” by Anonymous

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I shall make no disclaimer trying to dissuade you. If you have come far enough to obtain this book, I trust there is little anyone could do to deter you. That said, the art of sending letters and packages via cliff racer is a dangerous one to the uninitiated. This book aims to initiate you, and warn you how best to handle the challenges ahead. I recommend you read to the end of this tome, as I shall attach as postscript a list of materials you will need or want in order to accomplish this feat. Note that either sufficient magical prowess or access to adequate scrolls will be absolutely necessary for this task. It is simply impossible without the aid of wizardry.

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The origins of this spiteful tradition lie in time immemorial, in the first days of the Great Houses, as proud Chimer rose from the ash to the height of glory. Those first days were no less fraught with House warfare than any other. But of course, sometimes you have foes who are of a middling nature, worth not challenge nor writ, but nonetheless repugnant and aggravating. For the worst of these, simple insults would not do. My ancestors (and now yours, dear reader) devised a system of assaulting nemeses with messages delivered by vicious cliff racers. No great masters of the art remain but I, and so I share its practice with you.

I shall say this only once, but it is paramount: You will not be taming a cliff racer. Their rage can be no less assuaged than can yours, dear reader. Your goal is only to direct it towards your enemies.

The first and most crucial step is to acquire a cliff racer suitably placated or subdued. There are many methods. My preference is a spell my mother’s mother devised, that can at range paralyze a target. But, of course, were that the entirety of the process, the racer would simply crash to the ground and perish. The genius of the spell I use is that it also applies a gentle buoyancy effect, allowing the racer’s limp body to gracefully descend to the ground.

Such a spell may be difficult to replicate without the aid of a talented spellwright, so a simpler option may be to cast both effects separately, either by scroll or your own power. Of course, if you are of poor aim, it may be difficult to land the spells upon such a moving aerial target, and ascertaining where the racer might land in the craggy hills they frequent might also be troublesome. Therefore, you may wish to attract its attention so that it shall come closer before you cast. But do not wait until the last minute; while a cliff racer may at first seem to descend leisurely, it can suddenly swoop to attack as it nears its target.

Of note are other alternatives, such as a calming or tranquilizing spell, but it is recommended you avoid both. For us to give the cliff racer its target, it is best it stay awake while subdued. As for using Calm, you would struggle to get the cliff racer to the ground, as it would be no doubt content to stay high in the sky. Furthermore, it is very likely that when you cast Fury to give the racer its target, it might immediately shake off your Calm spell, putting you in grave danger. 

Additionally, the very brave and very magically talented may attempt to do their business in midair, placing a levitation effect on their placating spell, and using their own Rising Force to climb to its place in suspension. This is difficult and magically draining, but no doubt impressive. Be very sure that you properly calculate the timing of both spells, so that neither you nor the racer fall to your deaths. Also be wary of dropping anything.

When you have finally subdued your fierce letter-carrier, you are ready to give it your letters or packages. This is not difficult to do, as there is ample space on the cliff racer’s body where you can tie your items, or glue them with resin. Try to avoid attaching anything to the wings, as it can adversely affect the racer’s ability to fly. 

You may also wish, if you truly despise your recipient, to force the racer to consume your items, preferably in a container resistant to its gizzards and digestive juices, so that they will need to carve into the cliff racer to obtain your message. Your container should be made to glow or make sound even through the racer’s flesh, so as to attract the recipient’s curiosity. The former can be done cheaply enough by slathering the container with the pulp of Luminous Russula mushrooms or Coda Flower blooms. The latter is usually best done magically. When using this method, do be wary that the cliff racer may attempt to regurgitate the items before it reaches its victim. It may, however, vomit your contents at your target’s feet. It is not unprecedented, and also very humorous, that it may vomit your message directly upon your target as it prepares to attack.

The next stage of the process involves assigning our recipient to the cliff racer. The cliff racer’s power of scent is legendary, and were they less cantankerous, they would make excellent trackers. Therefore, you must somehow discretely acquire an item bearing the foul scent of your enemy. This must be introduced to the racer’s nose while you cast another spell, commonly known as “Fury.” While this spell usually makes its target susceptible to attacking any nearby creature or individual, our application of a particular smell will focus the beast’s rage solely upon that smell’s owner. 

Note that while you still possess said odorous artifact, you might easily be identified by the cliff racer’s potent olfactory sense as the source of the smell. It is recommended you douse yourself and the item thoroughly with Telvanni Bug Musk after you finish, but before the cliff racer snaps out of its daze or paralysis. Do not think simply discarding the item will do the trick, as while cliff racers are perceptive, they are not very intelligent, and may simply savagely attack the item instead of your target.

As the final part of your mission, after the payload is armed and aimed, you must do one more thing: run away very quickly, and pray to your preferred saint. It is critical that your spell of Paralyze or Calm must be long enough for you to do what is needed, and then some, so that you can put a great distance between yourself and the cliff racer before the effect wears off. Be wary to also ensure your Fury spell is long enough for the cliff racer to find its target. This depends, of course, on how far it must travel to reach them; as such, long distance deliveries are often impractical due to the inherent cost of such a lengthy spell. But you may be surprised how fast a cliff racer can fly when it is on a specific rampage.

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P.S. As promised, I shall provide a specific checklist of required materials here:

1. 1 spell of either Calm or Paralysis, at range (and to timing specifications described above)
2. 1 spell of Feather, to carefully land a paralyzed or sedated cliff racer at range
3. 1 spell of Fury, on touch (and to timing specifications described above)
4. 1 article bearing the scent of your target, discretely acquired
5. 1 vial of Telvanni Bug Musk
6. Your message(s) or package(s)
7. Rope or resin to fasten your message or package to the cliff racer
8. 1 wild cliff racer
9. An intense animosity for your target
10. The will to see the task through.

Ku-vastei wearily steps inside from the rain, slamming the round metal door behind her. She begins to wring out her robes, swearing to every god and saint she knows under her breath.

A heavily-armored man draws his sword and points it towards her. “What are you doing here, slave?”

Too tired to speak, Ku simply glares at the cyrod as she continues to dry herself off.

“How did you get up here?” pursues the warrior, stepping closer. “These are Master Aryon’s private -”

Before he can take another step, a daedric spearpoint materializes in xanthous light at his throat, freezing him in place. “Come no closer, n’wah,” Ku declares, her tired voice deep and rumbling, “if you value your neck.” 

“Turedas? What’s all this commotion about?” calls a silvery voice from upstairs. A dunmer descends the spiral staircase, hiking up his robe so he doesn’t trip. He spies Ku-vastei with her conjured weapon pressed against his bodyguard’s gorget and his face lights up. “Ah, Turedas, settle down. This is the guest I told you to expect.”

The cyrod carefully sheathes his weapon, and Ku follows suit, the spear dissipating into tiny flecks of yellow floating to the ceiling and beyond. “I did not expect you meant to meet with a slave, Councilor,” says Turedas, his eyes still carefully trained on Ku.

“She is no slave of mine or anyone else,” replies Master Aryon, patting the warrior on the back. Ku-vastei notices he lacks the coarse Vvardenfell accent. “She is like Smokeskin-killer, a free argonian. We do not keep slaves in Tel Vos.” He smiles at Ku-vastei. “My apologies for the confusion. My man here once worked at the slave market in Sadrith Mora. Despite his Cyrodiilic origins, his heart was hardened to the abuses there.”

Ku-vastei grunts and goes back to wringing out her robes. “No, no,” interjects Aryon, taking a careless step closer. “Here. Allow me. You’ll feel warmer for a moment.”

Ku narrows her eyes but allows him. With a wave of his hand, vaporous orange light encircles her, pulling the moisture from her clothing and suffusing her body with a pleasant warmth. Her tail pulls itself taut with a cozy shiver. “Thank you,” she offers in return.

“Think nothing of it, muthsera. Come upstairs with me, I was just about to sit down for dinner.” He waves her towards the stairs with a practiced bow and flourish of his hands. “Turedas, if you would, please mop up the entryway.”

Turedas groans but nods in deference to his master. Ku follows Aryon up the fungal stairs, her tail “accidentally” slapping Turedas on her way past. As they climb, she begs the question, “See, you know what stairs are. No levitation necessary to go from one floor to the other. Then why do you require it to access this tower at all?”

“It is a longstanding tradition of the Telvanni,” answers Master Aryon. “We are a House steeped in wizardry, of course. So to reach our finest, you must prove yourself capable of such an essential spell, or at least resourceful enough to buy or brew a potion. This way it is impossible for lesser men to waste our often valuable time.” He pauses, then adds, “…Or so the tradition goes.”

“So you hesitate before tradition?” Ku observes.

“In its most outdated forms, yes.”

“Yet you keep the common folk of Vos a mile away from you. Very faithful adherence.”

The magister turns to look at Ku-vastei for a moment, then smiles. “…Some traditions die harder than others. Some must be followed so that others may be changed. It is a sacrifice. You are very observant, Ku-vastei, and that shall do you well in House Telvanni.”

They arrive at the second floor of the fungiform tower, where a table ladened with food awaits. “Be my honored guest, muthsera, and have a seat,” Master Aryon proclaims, throwing his arms wide with entreaty.

As Ku-vastei sets aside her pack and cautiously tucks her tail to sit at the table, she admires with salivating tongue the grand feast laid out before her: gleaming slaughterfish sashimi with an inky dipping sauce; an entire leg of mudcrab, plump and stuffed with golden meat; perfectly molded saltrice balls, neatly tucked into hackle-lo leaves; a bowl of bright blue roasted dovah-flies; and a large cup of mulled shein, steaming with an intoxicating aroma. She lifts it to her nose with both hands, inhaling deeply. The weather must have clogged her sinuses, because the blast of spices clears them right back out, like a fire removing a colony of its congestive kwama.

“Feel free to help yourself,” Aryon says, taking his own seat and separating his corkbulb chopsticks. “I prepared enough for the both of us.”

Ku takes a mighty swig of the shein before setting it back down. She forgoes her own pair of chopsticks and begins popping dovah-flies into her mouth with gusto, each one carefully pinched between her claws. Aryon watches attentively as he slowly dips a piece of sashimi into the black sauce.

“You knew -” Ku says between bite-swallows, “- that I would be coming.”

Aryon ignores this observation, instead making one of his own. “You approach this meal with proud carelessness. Who is to say I haven’t poisoned the dovah-flies?”

Ku laughs, picking up the massive crab leg. “A man of your status should know we argonians are immune to the poisons of men and mer.”

“Yes,” Aryon replies with a chuckle of his own. “Of men and mer, yes. But I know of at least three brewed in the dark depths of your homeland that are immune to your immunity.”

The leg cracks open violently, mudcrab meat scattering across the table. 

“But you needn’t worry,” entreats Aryon. He moves his chopsticks in a single calculated motion to pick up a dovah-fly and pops it into his mouth, savoring the crunch before continuing. “Such poisons have no antidotes. We are here as allies, Ku-vastei. We serve the same purpose. In serving me, you serve yourself.” He pauses to fish a piece of misplaced crab meat out of the murky depths of the sauce. “My Mouth told me you were coming.” He taps on a lavender-stoned ring on his finger as he chews.

“…Telepathic ring?” Ku asks, her pupils dilating slightly as she examines it. She gently takes a saltrice ball and nibbles on it, a bit more cautiously now, despite Aryon’s assurances.

“Close,” Aryon says after swallowing. “Teleportation. I prefer to meet face to face. I had Galos take the long way back to Sadrith Mora.” He rolls the ring under his fingers across the table towards Ku-vastei. “This is yours now, as I’m making you my new Mouth.”

“I’m not standing around in Sadrith Mora all day.” Ku’s hunger gets the best of her, and she finishes off the ball quickly. But the words have an effect - she takes her own pair of chopsticks and awkwardly fiddles with them to pick up a piece of sashimi. She does not touch the ring just yet.

Aryon laughs. “No, no, I won’t expect that of you. Galos will still take care of the minor clerical duties of the position.” He watches Ku’s attempts with a frown. “Look. See how I hold them? Like this,” he says, rotating his hand towards Ku-vastei. He deftly picks up a dovah-fly and pops it into his mouth.

Ku adjusts her grip and tries to pick up a dovah-fly herself. She manages to lift it a few inches from the bowl before twisting it out of the sticks, sending it rolling off the table. “Xuth,” she exclaims under her breath.

“Much better. You’re a quick learner.” He sets down his chopsticks and leans back in his chair. “I suppose they didn’t teach you proper etiquette at the Savethi Plantation, did they?”

Ku-vastei’s nostrils flare slightly. “You’re very well researched,” she remarks, biding her temper.

“Yes,” Master Aryon says. “I’m well aware of your past prior to arriving on Vvardenfell. Your role in the Arnesian War is particularly impressive. You’re quite the impactful character, Ku-vastei.”

“What’s your point?” Ku lays down her own chopsticks.

“You know, unlike most of my fellows in the House, I’m quite sympathetic to your plight, and that of your people.”

Ku presses a palm firmly on the surface of the table. “You know nothing of ‘our plight,’ n’wah. You live just the same privileged life as the rest of you house-folk.”

Aryon clears his throat and leans in. “I may not have ever been a slave, Ku-vastei, but I am fond of progress. The business of slavery is an ancient tradition, and ancient traditions must be abolished for a new society to blossom. Are you familiar with the teachings of Vivec?”

“No,” Ku-vastei lies. She’s read some of his sermons, but admitting familiarity feels treacherous.

“Ah, nevermind then. But as I said, in order for our society to flourish, it must be destroyed and made anew. This goes especially for our Great House Telvanni. You will find me just as progressive as the staunchest abolitionist.”

He lifts his cup of shein to his nose, inhaling the aroma of the spices. “I’m aware how your name translates from Jel to Aldmeris. ‘Catalyst for necessary change.’ It served you well in rebellion, and I think it can serve us well here. Working with me, you can once again be that catalyst, and forever change the face of Great House Telvanni.” With his offer pitched, he leans back in his chair and takes a sip of the wine.

Ku-vastei mulls it over for a bit. In order to advance within the house, it seems she has little choice. And perhaps he truly will end up a valuable ally. She picks up the ring and inspects it briefly before sliding it onto her middle finger. The magical ring glows in reaction to its new wearer, expanding and tightening to fit comfortably. “One condition,” she says. “Build some damn stairs to this place.”

“Well,” Aryon interjects, “with the ring, you won’t need-”

“I don’t care. Build some stairs.”

Aryon narrows his eyes briefly but smiles. He extends his hand over the feast. “Deal.”

Ku takes his soft hand and shakes it firmly, saying nothing. 

-

After feasting further and conversing about House politics and magical theory, Ku-vastei makes ready to leave. On her way out she meets Turedas again. 

“Good evening, sera,” he says, hissing the honorific.

“I’m Master Aryon’s Mouth now, n’wah.”

The color falls from the cyrod’s face. “Yes, serjo. Of course.”

Ku-vastei turns swiftly towards the door, slapping Turedas with her tail again as she does, before quickly marching out into the clear night.