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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I sat at the mouth of the Barrow, chewing my way through a strip of the dried meat that the Skaal had provided me as provender. Across my lap was Korst’s map and, from careful study, I realised that there was another stone: this one marked on the map as a small tree. Comparing Korst’s map with my own, I saw that I could follow the river north and, by keeping to the western bank, I should be able to reach the stone before midday.

Packing everything away and shouldering my pack, I made my way back to the still glowing Sun-Stone and made my way west to the river. Turning north, I set off. It wasn’t too long before I came to a rude dwelling on the banks of the river. There was a woman outside, washing some clothing in the icy-cold water. She looked up as I approached, showing no fear as I did so.

“To you, a fair morn,” she said, inclining her head. “What here do you do, stranger?”

“And a good day to you,” I replied politely. “I’m just passing through.”

“A tisane, perhaps you’d like?” she said, gesturing to the mud and wattle mound behind her. Not wishing to be impolite, I thanked her and followed her inside. To my surprise, the rude exterior of the dwelling was no indication of the interior. Several large and airy chambers had been hewn from the rock and it was in the central one of these that we sat and drank the tisane Kolfinna had prepared.

For that was this woman’s name: Kolfinna. As is natural, we got talking and I discovered that she’d been recently widowed, her husband killed by Sigvatr the Strong in an altercation. The widow seemed particularly aggrieved that this Sigvatr hadn’t offered her any wergild. She had to explain that concept to me: it seems that, amongst the Skaal, it is common for a restitution to be made to the family of those killed by your actions. Sigvatr, although responsible for the death of Kolfinna’s husband, had refused to pay a wergild.

Kolfinna and I spoke for a while longer and I promised that, should I get the chance, I would speak to Sigvatr the Strong and try to procure the wergild that Kolfinna wanted: a gemstone belonging to Sigvatr known as the Pinetear. She thanked me profusely and, even though I protested, she gave me several more strips of that smoked and dried meat the Skaal seem to enjoy so much. She also warned me that there were ‘Reavers’ nearby. That was another concept that had to be explained. Reavers are organised bandits similar to the bandits one can find everywhere. Thanking her once again, I took my leave.

Forewarned is forearmed they say, and Kolfinna’s warning about the bandits served me well. As I made my way along the riverbank, I became aware of the smell of smoke. Dropping to my knees, I shuffled forward towards the smell and, before too long, I was peering around a snow-encrusted bush at the four fur-clad Reavers gathered around the smouldering fire. Dropping back behind the bush, I unhooked the crossbows from my pack and loaded them. Flat on my stomach, I sighted along the crossbow ~ taking careful aim at the bandit lugging a large bow. Taking out the archer was my first priority.

There was a dull twang and the archer screamed hoarsely, scrabbling at his face. Even as the cries of consternation reached me, I had the second crossbow aimed, this time at a large fellow in a full-face iron helm. The bolt took him in the chest, punching through his leather breastplate and slamming him backwards. Even as he fell, I had the Ebony blade out and was running through the trees. The two remaining Reavers saw me coming and raced to meet me.

I slammed to a halt on the riverbank, allowing them to splash through the freezing water to reach me. The grey-haired bandit was marginally slower than his blond compatriot and was treated to the educational sight of me dispassionately cutting down blondie in a welter of blood. This didn’t dissuade him from pressing his attack but it may have demoralised him. Either way, I effortlessly blocked his axe-bow before cleaving the edge of the Ebony blade into his forehead.

Dispassionately, I cleaned my blade in the running water, bloodying it briefly. Then I walked over to the fire and the two bodies there. The armour of the helmeted Nord was ruined, dripping with gore from the chest wound I’d inflicted. The archer, however, had bled out into the snow and his fur armour was relatively clean. Stripping the archer of the armour, I quickly took off the Templar armour I was wearing, replacing it with the thicker and warmer fur armour. Whilst the armour wouldn’t provide as much protection as either the Daedric or Templar armour, it’s warmth more than made up for the deficiency. And, in this frigid and unpredictable landscape: warmth was more important than any other consideration.

From where I’d encountered the Reavers, it was only a short distance until I came to the Tree-Stone. The chorus of ethereal voices sounded in my head, “The First Trees are gone. Travel to the east and find he who has stolen the Seeds. Plant anew the First Trees. Be thou wary, he who controls the Seeds, controls the Trees.”

I didn’t like the sound of the warning I’d been given so, it was with a great deal of caution that I travelled eastwards across the open ground towards the distant line of trees. My caution was rewarded; in a natural hollow was a short blue figure in odd armour. Standing around him were one, two, three, four, no ~ five of those walking tree-creatures. One such creature had proven difficult ~ five were insurmountable odds. At least, if I chose to fight conventionally.

The trees gave me an idea and, making sure my pack was secure, I slowly climbed the slender trunk of a nearby tree and settled myself in the fork formed by a thick branch where it joined the bole of the tree. This gave me an elevated position that, unless those creatures could climb, should provide me with a degree of safety. A knot on the branch provided an ideal place to hang my quiver of bolts and nearby branches gave me a brace I could use to recock and load the bows.

Working methodically, I started at the far side of the grouping of ambulatory shrubbery: firing carefully so that each bolt struck home. A single, well-aimed bolt was sufficient to knock one of the tree-creatures off its feet even at this range. In this manner I disposed of two of the creatures before the blue midget noticed that anything was wrong. I’d managed to get another couple of bolts into another before the figure realised where the attack was coming from. To my delight, the miniscule figure grouped the creatures together to provide him some measure of protection before leading the advance on my position from the rear.

“Chan annwfn s fferedig asgre,” I intoned, extending my hand towards the small group of figures. A swirling sphere of energy spun away from me, striking the ground in front of them and exploding with a roar of discharging energy. I feared that natural adaptation to the frozen environment would render the spells that Jaron had taught me ineffective: this proved partially to be the case. The tree-creatures seemed unaffected by the screaming energy that raved and roared around them, the blue-skinned midget was a different matter. It jerked and howled as the magicka tore into it, finally collapsing in an untidy heap.

This seemed to be a signal for the creatures: they stopped their advance on my tree and started to mill around uncertainly. Sliding down the bole of the tree, I took advantage of their confusion to race across the clearing to the tiny figure. I was slightly disconcerted to discover that the creatures had a natural inclination to attack and, as I streaked passed them on my way to the corpse, they let out a series of unearthly shrieks and started moving towards me.

Rolling the corpse over, I grabbed the small leather pouch that hung from its belt ~ very much aware of how close the killer-trees were getting. The pouch contained just one seed, a tiny hard object. Grabbing it up I prepared to run for my life. Only to discover that the tree-creatures were standing perfectly still, their beautiful but alien faces regarding me solemnly. “Ha!” I exclaimed, “Whoever controls the seed, controls the trees!”

I found that, by concentrating, I could instruct the creatures to perform simple tasks. Using them as a guard ~ which resulted in a terminally surprised grizzly bear ~ I made my way back towards the Tree-Stone. On my way here I had spotted a clearing near the stone that would make an ideal spot to plant the seed. Mindful of the nature of the creatures surrounding me, I made damn’ sure to dismiss them ~ sending them far, far away before digging a small hole and dropping the seed inside.

Patting the soil back of the freshly planted seed, I straightened up. Even from here I could see the faint green glow that surrounded the Tree-Stone. Sitting on a convenient outcropping of rock, I spread my two maps out and looked for the next nearest stone. According to Korst’s map, it is a stone marked by what appears to be a symbol for a mountain and it is almost directly west of where, on the coast.

My journey west was uneventful; as such things go in the trackless wilderness. I played a brief game of hide-go-seek with a large brown bear that took exception to my presence but managed to loose it amongst the trees. The terrain, as I approached the cost, grew steadily worse, necessitating several detours around impassable outcroppings of rock. Thus it was dusk before I approached the dark stone spire that was my destination. The vocal chorus told me, “Travel northeast to the Cavern of Hidden Music and there learn the Songs of the Earth.”

Having no intention of travelling anywhere at this time of night I cast around for a suitable place to spend the night. The nearby Blodskal Barrow looked suitable and the heavy stone door was invitingly open. The gloomy interior was warm and dry and the only occupant of the crypt was another of those entombed corpses. Most interestingly, on the central stone that dominated the crypt lay a glistening broadsword. Writ upon the blade, in Nordic runes, was the word ‘Blodskal’. Drawn to the singing power of the blade, I reached out and grasped the hilt…

The horde of skeletal warriors are now safely trapped behind the stone door ~ which I’ve magically locked and warded. The instant I grasped the blade I knew I was not alone in the Blodskal Barrow, although I didn’t expect the dozen or more skeletal champions that faced me when I turned. Even with the deadly power of my newly acquired sword, there were far too many of them for me to combat. Instead, I settled for battling my way out of the Barrow and trapping them inside. Dearly brought, the Blodskal blade now hung in the scabbard by my side.

Setting up my tent, I crawled inside and closed the flaps behind me. The tinderbox, a gift from the Skaal, contained kindling, steel, and a flint and, within moments I had a warm fire burning. Having made a thin stew of the dried meat and some root vegetables I’d gone out and gathered, and drunk a small quantity of the thrice-distilled Mead that filled the small metal flask Korst Wind-Eye had given me, I threw the thin furs onto the floor and settled down for the night.