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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After breaking my fast this morning, I met a very intense young soldier named Severia Gratius. Before he disappeared, Captain Carius had asked her to look into a spate of Moon-Sugar poisonings here at the Fort. It seems that several people, including the head of the Cult Shrine, have been slipped doses of Moon-Sugar. Foul play is definitely suspected and Gratius is in charge of the investigation.

Wishing her the best of luck with the investigation and promising to keep my ears open for any clues, I left through the ruins of the north gate and headed towards a lake shown on the map Gaea had given me: Fjalding by name. From the lake it is only a short distance to the Skaal village.

As I headed north, I went close to a magnificent mansion, which, according to the notice outside, was being offered for sale by J.C. Spencer of Vivec City. I spared a few moments to examine the exterior and then pressed on. The weather was closing in, heavy clouds blotting out the sunshine and making the temperature plummet.

As the first snowy flakes started to fall, I saw a tall Nordic woman walking through the snow. She was clad in leather leggings, a loose top and a thick fur jacket. Intending to ask the woman how close I was to the Skaal village, I picked up the pace and approached her. Her response was less than welcoming.

“Du nästa,” she yelled, taking several quick steps away from me and raising her hands in a gesture I knew well. As the swirling yellow particles coalesced into the form of an ancestral spirit, I was yelling the words, “Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata.”

The pale Atronach tore through the ancestral spirit with effortless ease on its way towards its main target. The woman whipped out a small dagger and threw herself at the hulking form of my Summons; the blade striking sparks from the creature as she stabbed at it again and again. Unfortunately for her, it was a far from even contest and, with a sickening crunch, the Atronach twisted her head through one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. As the Atronach sparkled and dissipated, I crouched beside the corpse and examined it. The dagger was heavily enchanted, its serrated silver blade covered in strange runic designs. I was more interested in the fur coat, dragging it off the corpse and slipping into it.

Much warmer, despite the swirling snow, I pressed onwards ~ enjoying several encounters with the local fauna. None of the creatures I met: bear, boar, or wolf, seemed any friendlier than the creatures of Vvardenfell and all seemed determined to add me to their diet. To make matters worse the snow, which had been light so far, now started to fall thickly ~ accompanied by a sudden increase in wind speed. With visibility greatly reduced, it was hard going…

Gasping and shivering, I stumbled down the small slope into the small village some three hours north of Fort Frostmoth. Armour-clad guards surrounded me instantly, materialising out of the swirling snow. “What do you here, stranger?” one of them asked.

“I’ve come to speak to the Skaal about the attack on the Fort,” I gasped through chattering teeth.

“Tae Tharsten Heart-Fang ye should be speaking,” the guard said, pushing me towards a large wooden hall. “In the Great Hall you’ll be finding him.”

The twin doors creaked open, revealing a large open space in the centre of which burned a massive log fire. Unfriendly Nordic faces watched as I moved close to the fire, shucking the snow-encrusted coat as I did so. Facing me as I stood there warming myself was a huge chair, carved from some dark stone. Thrown over the seat and back were thick fur rugs and, standing in front of it, watching me closely, was the largest Nord I’ve ever seen.

“What do ye here stranger?” he rumbled as I drew close and bowed.

“I’ve come to speak to the Skaal about the recent attack on Fort Frostmoth,” I replied, “and the disappearance of Captain Falx Carius.”

“We are knowing nothing about those matters,” Heart-Fang replied. “‘Tis nae a matter we would be concerning ourselves with. As tae your missing Captain maybe ate him the wolves did.” There was a roar of laughter from the gloom as the Skaal showed their appreciation for their Chieftain’s wit.

“Unlikely,” I responded, “There was no blood. Nor, I think, were these ordinary wolves.” I went on to explain the damage to the Fort and the claw-marks I’d found in solid stone. As I spoke, a small, one-eyed Nord appeared out of the gloom and started to whisper in the Chieftain’s ear.

“What ye say, ‘tis all very interesting,” Heart-Fang said, “but, the Honour of my People, we nothing tae do wi’ it had.” He paused, then added, “‘Tis customary, amongst the Skaal, a token of friendship tae bring…”

“Of course,” I replied, “I’m forgetting my manners.” Reaching into my pack, I withdrew the skull that I’d been given and, bowing low, presented it to Tharsten Heart-Fang. There was a mumble from the gathered warriors while the small Nord once more spoke to the Chieftain.

“Silence!” Heart-Fang rumbled. “‘Tis a bonny gift although the worth of it ye know not. Long and long the Imperials have plundered our sacred places, although ye were not the one responsible for taking this, I ken. Come, by the fire warm yourself, ‘tis too cold for ye to be making the return to yon Fort I’m thinking.”

This was obviously some sort of command because many hands grabbed a long table and dragged it into the body of the hall. Three chairs were set at the top of the table, nearest the Chieftain’s chair: one at the head and one on either side. Long benches were dragged out to provide seating for the rest of the Skaal. Helms were doffed, shields, swords, and axes were placed on pegs and there was some good-natured milling around before everyone was seated. I found myself at the Chieftain’s right hand, sitting opposite the scrawny, one-eyed Skaal. Serving wenches scurried in, placing plates in front of each of us ~ onto these were placed large chunks of cooked meat and circular loaves of bread. Beside each platter was placed a red clay tankard with a metal lid.

“May the One,” the one-eyed Skaal said into the sudden silence, “this meal bless, make strong the arms of the Skaal and bring His blessing tae our guest.” This benediction completed, everyone tucked in. The meal was excellent, although the meat was a little too well cooked for my tastes. The concoction in the tankards was heavy and sweet, thick with the taste of wild honey. So this was Mead… I could get to like it.

As we ate, Tharsten quizzed me on matters, proving surprisingly knowledgeable for someone Saenus had dismissed as a ‘wild man’. He also spoke of his grievances against the Cyrodiil invaders, of which he had many. The biggest seemed to be his conviction that the Imperial soldiers had no respect for the land or the creatures. It was this ‘lack of respect’ that he blamed for the dwindling of the Skaal’s magical powers. I listened with growing alarm to his comments: I could foresee two outcomes to this conversation and I was pretty sure I’d like neither one.

“Tae atone for their mistakes, a good thing that’d be,” he said, adding, “if the Skaal ye wished to know better. Matters there are, of which we cannae speak whilst in such dire straights we are. If more ye need to ken, about your missing Captain, then help us you must.”

See, I told you I wasn’t going to like the outcome of the conversation. Still, this was better than the Skaal descending on Frostmoth intent on tearing it apart stone by stone, which is where I feared the conversation had been heading. “What do I need to do?” I asked wearily.