The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Every Day a Walk In The Park... Options

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The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Part Seven

Darius, according to Master Demnevanni, ran his office out of the Madach Tradehouse in Gnisis. So, after translocating there after breaking my fast, I made my way into the lower half of the “shell” that comprised the Tradehouse. Darius was short, stocky, and clad in gorgeous armour – all gilded metal with a flowing red cape. He looked up at me and said, “So, you want to join the Legion do you Citizen Vahl? Well, it’s true that we have a shortage of Manpower ~ and Merpower for that matter. You look capable enough. Tell me, are you capable of following orders?”

“Excellent,” he said when I assured him I was. “It’s a Mer’s life in the Legion. Every day a walk in the park, every meal is a banquet, every pay check a fortune. It’ll make a Ma... Mer of you. Right, Recruit Vahl, here is your regulation-issue chain cuirass. You will wear it when you address a superior officer, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes… sir,” I replied.

Darius shook his head. “The first and last word I want to hear out of your mouth when you address me is ‘Sir’. Now sound out like you got a pair. Do you understand me?”

“Sir, yes Sir,” I said in a clear voice, desperately trying to ignore the sniggering Orc in the corner of the room.

“Outstanding,” he said. “Now get that cuirass on and I’ll give you your orders.

“You might be wondering,” he said once I’d got the chain cuirass in place, “why I am billeted in the Tradehouse? Well, it’s because we have no room to expand. The widow Vabdas has a parcel of land the Legion needs to expand. I want you to come back to me with the deeds as quickly as possible. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes Sir,” I replied, turning to march out of the room. As I went up the stairs, I heard General Darius addressing the Orcish Trooper, “gro-Khazor, what is your major malfunction?”

Vabdas had a house just west of town, out past Arvs-Drelen, so it wasn’t difficult to get to. Her reaction, when I spoke to her about the land-deed was to slap me across the face ~ hard. I suppressed the spells that roared into my mind and, speaking carefully, said, “you would be wise not to do that again.”

“Why?” she snapped, and now I could see the tears in her eyes. “Because you’ll kill me like you did Mansilamat?”

“I assure you ma’am,” I told her, “I had no part in the death of Mansilamat. Tell me what happened…” Bit by patient bit, I dragged the story from her. It seems that her husband, the aforementioned Mansilamat, had gone to the Egg-Mine at Gnisis to get some eggs. There, according to the widow, the Legion had killed her husband.

As I walked back towards Gnisis, I reflected that whatever power controls my life has an infinite capacity for capriciousness. What should have been the simple acquisition of a deed to some land had now become a murder investigation. Of course, that was how General Darius saw it and he told me to obtain proof that the Legion had been involved. Fortunately, the guard at the door of the Egg-Mine proved amenable to my charming behaviour and, after checking that there was nobody watching, he gave me the key to the door.

There was a familiar stink about the mine, one that I remembered from the Mudan-Mul Mine. Drawing my sword, I advanced with some care. Fortunately, whatever was blighting the mine was confined to the lower quarters and the Scribs in the upper chambers were not aggressive. I wish the same could be said of Trooper gro-Ogdum. The Orc gave me a three count to get the Oblivion out of the area he was guarding. As quickly as I could, I chose one of the passages and headed off down it. From up ahead I could hear the drip-drip of water and a strange noise ~ like wind. As I rounded the corner, I came upon the source of the sound. There, in the middle of the passage, was an Ancestral Spirit.

“Hear me Mortal,” it moaned, as I made ready to swing my sword, “Stay your hand ~ I am Mansilamat Vabdas, I was murdered, most foully, by the Orc Lugrub gro-Ogdum. I beg you, avenge me…” The last syllable was drawn out as the spectre faded from view. I knew that the word of an apparition would carry no weight with General Darius: I needed more proof. I found it in the depth of the pool nearby ~ the corpse of Mansilamat and a notched Imperial axe.

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Imsin the Dreamer was, as her name implies, a Nord ~ one of those tall, statuesque and achingly beautiful Nordic females that I used to wish disaster and ruin upon whenever they rode through the village. Still, despite her frosty beauty, Imsin seemed pleasant enough, in a softly spoken sort of way. “Hail,” she said as I snapped to attention in front of her. “We dinnae go for that sort of nonsense here,” she admonished, “A simple salute and the occasional ma’am are all ye’ll need here.

“Now, if you’re ready tae do a bit of work, I need someone with a bit of panache. From what I’ve heard, you seem to be lacking in that department but I’m short-handed at the moment so ye’ll have tae do. We have a problem here in Ald’ruhn: there’s a healthy smuggling operation goes on around here and the high command is getting a wee bit annoyed. We suspect a local by the name of Drinar Varyon of being the Mer responsible for getting the goods out of Vvardenfell, but we have no idea how he’s doing it. Nor,” she added with an unmistakable warning in her voice, “do we have an iota of proof. So we cannae just go barging in. If there’s proof tae be found, I want you to find it. And, for goodness sake, don’t go there in uniform.”

I’d show her, I thought as I made my way along the dusty road that joins Buckmoth to Ald’ruhn. Well, just as soon as I’d found out what ‘panache’ was I’d show her.

I’d changed into a soft robe with the sort of expensive stitching that certainly wasn’t ‘regulation’. To my delight, I found that the guards were quite happy to talk to me and I was soon given directions to Varyon’s hut. The hut itself was simple enough to find ~ opposite the Ald Skar Inn, the one with the cart outside.

“Help you?” the Dunmer inside said, straightening from a potter’s wheel. On seeing me, he rather grudgingly added “ma’am”.

“My, you certainly seem to have been busy,” I said, indicating the pots and jugs that covered just about every surface. “I’m looking for some earthenware and I heard that you were something of a potter.”

“Something of a potter,” he spluttered. “I’ll have you know that I am one of the best in the whole of Morrowind Province. I come from a famous family of artists, perhaps you’ve heard of us?” I shook my head, and he launched into a long and detailed description of his artistic family. I tuned him out as he spoke; my interest had been caught by the glint of crystal on a desk nearby.

“So,” I said, “how much would you want for, let us say, a dozen pots and a like number of platters?”

“Ma’am,” he said with obviously strained patience, “I do not sell my goods on Vvardenfell, they are to go to the finest retailers throughout the Empire.” Yes, I thought to myself as he ushered me out, and now I know exactly how you’re smuggling Dwemeri artefacts off the island. Once I was outside, I retrieved the Ring of Surroundings from my pouch of magical rings and slipped it onto my finger. Once I was wrapped in the Shadow-Weave, I pushed open his door and slipped inside.

“Who’s there?” he said, looking up suspiciously. As he moved towards the door, I slipped around the stove in the other direction and grabbed the Dwemer Tube off the desk. Varyon cursed as his door swung open of its own accord again ~ I had, of course, opened it myself and slipped outside. Maintaining the spell until I was out of sight, I walked down into the dusty main square.

Back at Fort Buckmoth I changed into my uniform before going to see Imsin. She was quick; I’ll give her that. No sooner had I mentioned the fact that I’d found the tube among the pots than she realised how the operation worked. “Excellent work Vahl,” she said, “we’ve been waiting ages to get that snivelling little Scrib bang to rights. And, thanks tae you, we’ve got him. I’ll send a couple of Troopers over there right away. We’ll soon have the names of his accomplices.

“Now, I have another job for you Knight. The Knight Errant Joncis Dalomax was sent tae investigate rumours of cult activity at the Ashurnibibi Shrine near Hla Oad. He was due back yester but there has been no sign o’ him. Our agents in Balmora and Hla Oad report that he hasn’t been seen since he headed towards the shrine. We need you to go to Ashurnibibi and ascertain what has happened tae him.”

It was a simple matter for me to get to Hla Oad, a void-walk to Balmora and then up via the Odai Plateau into the Bitter Coast region. A local kindly pointed out the ruins to me, they are visible from the docks in the village. Casting water-walk, I made my way across the shallow bay and onto the foreshore by the shrine. Pressing myself against a convenient block of stone, I peered around it to scout out the lay of the land. Not that far away from where I stood was the by now familiar oval shape of a doorway into the shrine. Unfortunately, between the door and me stood another all too familiar shape. Tall, feminine, metallic ~ the Golden Saint scanned the surroundings slowly ~ the faint tinny creak of its joints audible even from here.

There was a trick I’d heard of although, admittedly, it was used on wolves rather than Dremora. All I needed was a moment or two of distraction and I could make the door and slip inside. Past experience told me that I could easily secure the entrance against something outside. Careful not to disturb the nearby bushes, I stooped and picked up a stone. Timing things carefully, I threw the stone off to the side as the Golden Saint’s head was turned. Quick as a lightning-flash the head snapped around ~ zeroing in on the source of the sound. To my dismay, the creature made no move to investigate, instead staring carefully towards the spot where the rock had landed. Horror-struck, I watched the head move in a perfect arc ~ tracking the rock’s trajectory back to where I stood. With the famous Vahl battle cry of “Oh Bugger” I drew my axe and raced towards the figure.