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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The Golden Saint manifested a wicked looking sickle that glinted evilly in the sunlight that filtered between the standing stones. With a metallic cry, it rushed towards me. Axe-blade met sickle-blade with a crash and battle was joined. We hacked away at each other, dodging the worst of the blows and hammering home the slightest advantage. The fight was very much like a Bosmer: short, brutal, and nasty.

I was covered with small cuts, a present from the curved sickle-blade, when I finally vanquished my otherworldly opponent ~ sending the essence of it howling back into the void. Gasping, I sank to the ground and opened my pack. Several freshly-created healing potions nestled within, and I grabbed one gratefully. As I drained the acidic potion, I saw a glint of light in the grass. When I had healed, I went and investigated: discovering that the Golden Saint had left the sickle behind when I returned it to Oblivion.

While short-bladed weapons are not my forte, the sickle was obvious valuable ~ the filigreed and inlaid cross-guard and the tiny gemstones set into the handle were what gave me the clue ~ so I took it with a view to selling it to whomever showed an interest. There seemed to be no other guardians outside the ruined Shrine so, taking a deep breath, I approached the oval door.

Stepping through into the cool gloom inside, I carefully made my way down the stairs. Such a stealthy approach was pointless ~ Ashurnibibi was a single square chamber with nowhere to hide. Which meant that the four cultists saw me at pretty much the same time as I saw them. Even though the potion had healed me, I still ached abominably from the fight with the Golden Saint and was in no mood to cross blades, or exchange magic, with these four. Many moons ago, Aryon had given me gloves as a reward for tasks done. I had never used the left-hand glove despite the fact that I wore it still.

The curved and alien runes glowed briefly before my eyes as I concentrated on the spell woven in to the glove. Three swirling vortexes formed in the very air around me and, from each portal, stepped a Dremora. With echoing howls, the Flame Atronach, the Frost Atronach, and the Storm Atronach fell on the nearest cultists, tearing into them ferociously. That left the one at the back for me. With a contemptuous look on his face, he started to cast a summoning spell ~ always a mistake when you’re being stalked by an irate Dunmer female with a quick temper and a quicker sword.

As he choked out the last of his life on the floor, I took a look around. Over in one corner was a steaming pile of meat ~ legacy of the Atronachs. The other two cultists had fared little better. With a shrug, I stepped up to the statue of Malacath and looked at the small chest that rested between its feet. The lock opened easily: revealing two apprentice scrolls and a rusted key.

The key opened the oddly shaped door at the back of the shrine, revealing a dishevelled-looking Breton in Imperial Templar armour. “Joncis Dalomax?” I asked.

“Yes, thank the Divines,” he gabbled, grabbing my shoulder. “I was overwhelmed and they shoved me in here. Arkay alone knows what foul ritual they were planning….” He took several deep breaths, mastering himself. “Thank you Knight,” he said in a much calmer tone of voice. “I will return to Hla Oad and thence to Fort Buckmoth. I shall be sure to relate to Imsin how you helped me.”

I nodded, thanking him softly. I understood his embarrassment: he was an elderly, grizzled warrior who had obviously seen his fare share of warfare. Yet he had been beset by four cultists and captured. Along comes a newly promoted Knight Errant ~ a young, female, Knight Errant ~ who not only sets him free but single-handedly defeated the four who took him captive. Such thoughts engender feelings of mortality in the best of us.

I shook myself as Dalomax left the shrine: maudlin thoughts and sympathy for Imperial soldiers? I’d best watch that tendency lest I start regretting leaving the Empire behind. With a laugh, since that was about as likely as me becoming a hero, I translocated back to Tel Vahl for some well-earned rest and recuperation.

The book, ‘Daedric Shrines of Importance’, proved to be an interesting and entertaining read ~ little did I then know the consequences of such a simple act.