Timothy
Retrieving his sword from the table, Sütcleff stood and nodded his head at the Dark Elf.

"My sister's ghost is likely to manifest and haunt me should I take too long to retrieve her heirloom. She was known to hold petty grudges like that. Threatened to slice one of my ears off when I bested her in a drinking game, she had such a fit over losing."

He allows himself to crack a slight smile in response to his own joke.

"I can't say the scar is exactly fresh, but in the grand scheme of the life I've lived... It was rather recent. As long as I can get a general location, I will be able to handle tracking down its exact whereabouts."

He wasn't kidding. In all his years of working as a sellsword, Sütcleff had been paid to locate missing property, pets, and the occasional person and had regularly been forced to make do with less resources than he currently had at his disposal. The only differemce between those jobs and this errand was how personal in nature things were this time around.

"I'll follow behind you."
Michael
The Wizard smirked as Castor mentioned a sliver of the dead woman's personality. He nodded, knowing the archetype of such a person well. His mother was that way, holding petty grudges. And, slicing off someone's ear for winning a drinking competition? Imagine stealing the woman's notebook. 

Varis nodded along as the man spoke, until finally, the go-ahead was given, and Varis rose to his feet. "Excellent, right this way," He placed his hands behind his back and walked around the man, heading off to the stairs that would lead toward the attics, above the suites where the owners and guests stayed. It was not a long journey, but it was a good few steps, until they reached a door covered in scrawled runes and stapled parchment, covered in more enchantments. 

The man was very defensive about his abode. Castor, from his long life, might even be able to see some hexes and cursed runes, similar to Destruction's fire and lightning runes. They were subtle, designed from the assemblage of parchment. 

Varis whisked his hand across the door, dismissing the magicka emenating from them, and walked inside.

Inside, his suite was an arcanist's dream. It was covered in odd baubles and trinkets, gizmos and gadgets. Not in a Dwemer sense, but in that there were recepticles for soul gems, trinkets for astrological observation near the windows, and all manner of enchanting apparati. There was even an enchanting table, seemingly home-made, as far as the ebony and crystals could be, but there was a sophisticated learnedness to the design that spoke of Varis' education.

The wizard whisked his hand once Castor was inside, the runes outside resealing and preparing to strike anything that came into contact with them. 

Varis walked around the lounge air, where plenty of pillows and carpets were situated for floor-sitting and meditation, toward a summoning circle, between the lounge area and bed. It was placed on a tiled platform, better for transportation up stairs, and was surrounded in sticks of chalk and wells of ink, all neatly organized and placed to not be in the way unless they were needed. 

Varis gestured toward the circle, "If you would stand inside and reveal the scar, I will be able to reach into the residue left by the enchantment, and we'll see what I find."

He placed his hands behind his back again, waiting. From the look of the room, Varis was an organized maximalist, with every single thing having its own specific placement.
Timothy
It would have been a lie had Sütcleff claimed the room wasn't at all intriguing. Even a mediocre mage such as himself, self-taught and with only a fleeting interest in the arcane, was take aback by the sheer volume of magical paraphernalia present in the living space.

Following Varis' instruction the the letter, Sütcleff entered the scrawled circle and removed his left gauntlet to expose his forearm. A long and grisly scar marred the flesh, spanning from just after the wrist all the way to the elbow on the underside of the Imperial's limb.

*From this day forward, we are kin. Rejoice in your great fortune to be adopted by the great Ashura of the Lacrymose!* Sütcleff could still hear her voice if he focused hard enough on the memory of their first meeting. In her honor, he silently made a promise to destroy the fool who had absconded with her treasure.

He only hoped the enchantment on the ring he wore on his right hand didn't interfere with Varis' ritual.
Michael
The Sorcerer nodded as he took a piece of chalk and walked around Castor, drawing a circle around him, and dotting a few lines here and there, taking some time to produce a sigil of sorts. He set the chalk down and walked around toward the forearm, reached over and placed his hands along the line of the scar for a moment, breathing softly as he conjured a bit of arcana, utilizing the sigil as a conduit. 

The air around the room began to accrue the smell of a rainless thunderstorm, as the charge of magicka in the air was brought forward, and Varis closed his eyes as he waved a hand over the scar, and his eyebrows furrowed a tad. 

Within his mindscape, he could visualize the scar, but not as it was in flesh, but as it was in an arcane signaling. Tendrils are arcana flowed from the scar as extremely faint, but exceptionally well preserved. His eyebrows furrowed a bit. He understood cellular structures as his mentor had taught him, that the cells in one's body, given enough time, would flip over, and generate a new skin, as the dead skin was flaked off. Scars lasted so long because mortal bodies did not regenerate at a rate acceptable for the scar to close without any trace before death or age accrued. He was a man who loved restoration with a passion, and studied the body of organisms regularly.

Thus, as Varis inspected the scar, a frown emerged. Either the scar was granted recently... Or something halted the skin's regeneration. To boot, there was a blurriness to the image, not as though the tendrils were trapped underneath, that was perfectly fine. Its just that the whole image was clouded, and as Varis moved around, he could see the cloud more clearly, as it took on the shape of the man he operated on. He mauled for a moment, and sighed through his nostrils. 

He opened his eyes, and looked up at the man. He took a step back, placed his hands behind his back, and said, "Well, I believe this enchantment *Wants* To be found, based on the aura it is providing. However, the image is... Clouded, by that enchantment you have on yourself. I do not mind secrecy and disguises. I am a faithful of Mephala, after all. But, if you want that sword's location, I will need to see past the illusion. It's powerful, I'll give you that, and I *Might* Be able to see through it, with enough energy, but..." He raised an eyebrow. "Is it truly so important to maintain it?"
Timothy
He listened intently to Varis' words, getting the gist of what was interfering even before the Dunmer came out and said it outright. Sütcleff sighed, taking hold of the iron band on his right middle finger and pulling it off with a slight bit of visible hesitation.

"Depends on your opinion of vampires. But... Seeing as you have confessed to cavorting with daedra, I doubt you care as much as an average civilian might.

The illusion shrouding Sütcleff's undead features faded gradually. His skin paled noticeably whilst his icy blue eyes dyed themselves a blood red hue.

"The people of Morrowind were always better at telling my kind from a common mortal than those here in the Fatherland. I've seen bloodsuckers operate in public view as everything from woodcutters to court mages in this province without so much as an Illusion spell to hide their features."

Looking down at the metal of his right gauntlet, Sütcleff could gaze upon his unveiled visage for the first time in nearly two decades. It brought back memories, and only most of them unpleasant.

"Work your magic, magic man."
Michael
The Sorcerer raised an eyebrow as the man took off his ring, and provided a warning. Then, the illusion faded before his eyes. The situation *Clicked* Into place, as the identity of the Vampire was revealed. Varis only grinned a little, as Castor continued with his commentary of Morrowind vs Skyrim. Varis could only chuckle as he admitted, "Do not worry, I am from Port Telvannis. I've seen many vampire slaves in my time, and so... I have a, solemn, impression of your kin, but... Heh, I will say, here, in this land, it seems to be the other way around."

He shrugged and nodded, hoping his comment did not offset the mood as far as it already was. Even though he was devoted to the Reclamations, and thus in opposition to Molag Bal, this vampire did not seem to have the same craze and wildness of the feral beasts he had come across in the ash wastes, or even the civilized and *Hidden* Within this land. 

It was putiful, despite the presence of the Dawnguard, that so many ran amuck. But, the Telvanni Wizard did not mind, as he simply closed his eyes again, placed his hands over the scar, and focused. 

He began to whisper an incantation, as his mind followed the threads of enchantment, back to the origin of the scar. If Castor listened closely, he could hear, "*By ancient whispers, through realms untold, Reveal to me the path, the artifact's hold.*"

Then, with a final step, the wizard took a step outside of the circle, and whisked his hand toward the window, casting an advanced Clairvoyance spell, as he located the location of the weapon, and allowed his mind to abscond into the spell and travel with the wind, the spell allowing him to track down and scour the depths of the earth to find the sword. 

If its location was on Nirn, he would find it.
Timothy
Things had gone better than Sütcleff could have hoped, all things considered. While it was rare, the Imperial had on occasion been forced to kill someone after they discovered he was a vampire and subsequently attacked him for it. Even rarer to find someone who didn't seem to care one wit.

Sütcleff pulls a spare map from a bag hanging off his belt, splaying it out over a nearby surface along with a strip of charcoal. Ashura's sword had been laid to rest in the Eldergleam Sanctuary, which lay between the holds of Eastmarch and the Rift. It would stand to reason the thief operated in the same general area and had stashed it accordingly.

"Mark the map as precisely as you can, and you'll have earned your pay. I didn't come back to Skyrim with empty pockets, after all."
Michael
As Castor pulled out the map, the Sorcerer turned his attention to it, and as he did, the spell had found its mark. The spell snagged itself on a blockage, as doorways stood in the way of it, before it slipped through in a blue mist, until it found its mark. Varis, utilizing the spell to scry outside of the range of the display the sword was kept in, he continued to scry out further and further, until he saw the location from above. 

He placed his hand to the map, and started to follow his finger with his eyes closed, as the touch allowed him to gain insight to the map and read its imagery, before he placed his finger over... Solitude. 

Varis opened his eyes, even he was perplexed. 

He snapped his head toward the map, and his lips turned up a bit beneath his facial hair. "Huh..." He turned around, walked over to a makeshift library, and opened the cabinets to rummage around a bit, until he found a rolled up map of his own. 

He set it down on a nearby table, unfurled it, and weaved his finger through the network matrix of Solitude's roads, as it was a map of the city from top-down, mapped out by an Imp he summoned. He moved his finger around until he snapped it down ontop of a house close to the Blue Palace. 

"Huh... Udulir has it."

Varis turned his head toward Castor. "Well, it seems your sister's sword fell into the hands of a collector."

He frowned, looked back to the map, and said to himself, "I wish it was a bunch of bandits. Then they could be killed without the authorities being alerted."

He shook his head, straightened his back, and turned back to Castor. "It seems you won't have to make a long journey, but, I can come with you to see this man, get it back without too much... Hassle. He owes me a favor."
Timothy
Sütcleff takes a moment to fix his left gauntlet back over his hand and return his ring to its designated digit before answering Varis' offer.

"Only if that doesn't add to what I owe you. I hired you to locate the sword, not to help me get it back after it was located." 

It was a half-joke, but one the Imperial lended a dry chuckle. 

"I wonder what a collector would want with an item like that. Pretty sure anything reminiscent of the Blades could get someone in hot water with the Thalmor. It was a risk doing so even before I left Skyrim back in the early days of the war. You said their name was Udulir? He's either a secretive sort, or he's rich and/or politically powerful enough to not care if the Dominion come snooping."

If Sütcleff had to, he would find a way to steal back the blade. He had no desire to kill (who he believed might be) an innocent, but he was far from a goody two-shoes and would sneak around or threaten someone without hesitation if it meant getting what he needed.

"I appreciate the offer, don't get me wrong."
Michael
The Dunmer chuckled a tad, but a chuckle that most certainly meant that he did mean to add the price of the transaction. He was a stringent man, but not unreasonable. He knew what people could afford, and what he wanted. Thus, as Castor continued, the Wizard placed his hands behind his back. 

"This information, is free. Udulir manages to keep out of the sights of the Thalmor because he claims that he is preserving Akavirii Culture in Tamriel. He is obsessed with the culture, and when a Blades' sword or armor is involved, he pays a pretty penny to the Thalmor, so that he might keep it. Believe me, he has no love for the Blades, being from the Summerset Isles, and, don't mention this to him, but I believe he was apart of the slaughter of the agents on the Isles. He'd never say, but I can tell when someone has killed. I imagine he acquired his obsession after entering one of their temples."

Varis turned and rolled up the map, storing it back where he kept the others, "As for helping you retrieve the blade, I will be costing myself a favor."

He turned his head back to Castor. "Thus, I will ask a favor of you. Some day, some time, I may call on you to perform a task for me, or assist me with something. I have designs for many things, and do not worry, I will not make it cost your life, in any way. As for the price for this session, I would only ask for... Well, I hope you understand, but, any parts of a vampire are valuable to a sorcerer."

Varis turned toward Castor fully, completely prepared for an abject rejection. "I would like a lock of your hair. Unless, of course, such bodily accessories do not grow back, for you? If so, perhaps a bit of spit in a vial?" He reached over to grab a little glass bottle, and shook it a little between his fingers. "I wouldn't want to inconvienence you any more than you did me." He smiled politely. But, he was serious.
Timothy
Another sigh escaped Sütcleff's lips, though he was well aware how equitable Varis was being. If anything, asking for something as small as a lock of hair or bit of saliva was unusually generous considering all the help the Dunmer enchanter had already been.

Taking the vial from Varis, Sütcleff proceeded to nick the ring finger of his left hand using the hooked iron band and let the resulting blood drip into the glass canister until it was around three quarters full. 

A quick Restoration spell would cease the bleeding and close the wound, leaving behind little more than a long scab as evidence of the cut even happening in the first place.

"I always get suspicious when people ask for too little in return for their work. Not that this pithy amount of blood is a treasure, mind you. The strain of vampirism I suffer from cannot be contracted as easily as Sanguinare Vampiris or Porphyric Hemophilia, so don't go ingesting this in pursuit of undeath. You'll most likely only succeed in poisoning yourself, which is the best case scenario."
Michael
The Wizard leaned back when the man took the vial, and his eyes widened a tad when the man was willing to put some blood in the vial. He tilted his head, observing the increasing amount, until Castor seemed satisfied, and handed the vial back. As Castor spoke, Varis listened, and smirked at the end. "No worries. I have no illusions for immortality via undeath."

He reached over and carefully placed the vial in a small box, and sealed the lock with a fiery rune, sending arcane flames licking along the sides, before they dissipated. 

He looked toward Castor. "As for me asking for too little," He smirked. "For what I do, one strand of hair would be enough. A whole vial of blood? I could empower some rituals for a very long time. Not to get into the specifics, but, your kind's nature, of everlasting undeath, provides a paradox. You are hungry, all the time, but, you do not perish, even when you starve. Thus, your remains, parts, can be reverse engineered to provide stasis to rituals that are too complex and sophisticated for the mortal mind to comprehend."

Varis raised his eyebrows and placed his hands behind his back. "Think of me as a Theoretical Arcanist. I do not generate great amounts of power from my hands, but what I can do with a few precise calculations and the proper ingredients..." He chuckled a little, walked toward the door, and undid the protective runes. "A spell that would take decades of meditation and magicka development," He whisked his hand, and the door opened safely, and easily. "Take less than a day."

He looked back toward Castor as he said, "Some call it a short cut. I call it innovation." Varis gestured for Castor to step out, so that he could reseal the protections on the way out.