The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Part 3 Options

[OverrideB1]

Yestere had been extremely profitable for me, as I had pretty much spent the day practising various spells, summoning, and combat techniques, not to mention a little alchemy. While there was no chance I was ever going to be partaking of the three greasy and foul-smelling concoctions I’d produced as a result of my experiments ~ the other training had been extremely beneficial albeit tiring. So, it was with more than a little impatience that I responded to the hammering on the front door that awoke me this morning. I was just about to address the young individual with the appropriate venom when he thrust a parchment into my hand, saying, “Muthsera Hleran sends her compliments.”

The note was brief and to the point:

CODE

“The first stage of your stronghold is complete. Please contact me at your convenience to discuss further development.”

Even though I knew that, at this stage, my stronghold wouldn’t be inhabitable, it was excellent news indeed. Dressing quickly, I spoke the words of the translocation spell and found myself in Sadrith Mora. Making my way into the oddly lit cavern, I listened to what Llunela had to say to me.

“I’m glad you came Muthsera Vahl,” she said. “The initial phase of growth is now complete. However, your tower still needs to grow more and it will need to be shaped. Traditionally, a skilled Tekton does this but, regrettably, the current expansion on the mainland means that they are all very busy there. We could leave the tower to grow wild ~ which rarely results in anything useable.

“But, when traditional means are unavailable, we have to make do with something else. It is said that the Dwemer had an artefact that could shape materials using sound. The book I read, by an Imperial named Hevou Thath, said that he’d seen designs for one such artefact in the Dwemer ruins of Mzanchend. I need you to travel there and locate these drawings, if they’re still there.”

Conveniently enough, the ruins I need are quite close to Uvirith’s Grave: so travelling there was my first priority. I followed pretty much the same route as before and soon came to the twisted knot of roots and branches that would form the basis of my tower. They had grown considerably since the last time, now being something like twice the height of a Mer. The environs, unfortunately, hadn’t improved any: the dust still lay thick on the ground and blew up in choking clouds at the slightest breeze. There was one change, however: and not a pleasant one. At the edge of the raised area of land upon which stood the hillock my tower was growing on was a campfire. Advancing cautiously, I made my way towards it.

“Greetings,” the armoured woman standing by the fire said, “what brings you to this gods forsaken plot of land?”

“This land is mine,” I replied somewhat sharply, “as is yonder tower. What brings you to my property?”

“Ahh well,” she said, raising the visor of her steel helm and looking at me. “Firstly, my apologies for any offence Telvanni. I have a tendency to speak jocularly when, maybe, I shouldn’t. As to what I am doing here, it’s complicated.”

“So, uncomplicated it,” I demanded. She grinned wryly.

“At your command. My being here serves a two-fold purpose. The first is that I am a researcher: and what I am researching is the life and times of the Mage Uvirith. Where you aware that this is the very spot his body was discovered in?” I shook my head, although given that the area was named Uvirith’s Grave, I wasn’t overly surprised. “Yes,” she continued, “and a very odd death he seems to have died too. He vanished from the Guild over in Balmora and, eventually, they became concerned enough to mount an expedition to locate him.

“After searching for many days, they found his corpse somewhere around here. It seems that he fell from a great height ~ with the inevitable consequences. Which is strange, because he was an accomplished mage and knew spells of levitation and slow-fall. Even odder was the length of frayed rope tied around his waist ~ what it was tied to at the other end, nobody knows.”

“All very interesting,” I interrupted, “but not really telling me why you are here.”

“Well,” she said, flushing slightly, “his staff was never found, although they scoured the area. It was, and probably still is, a very powerful piece of magical equipment. I had hoped to find some trace of it. The other thing is, recently I came into possession of a book of his that suggests he was looking for something very special ~ and may even have found it.”

“And what would that be?” I asked. She mumbled something quickly and quietly that I didn’t catch.

“A flying Dwemer fortress,” she snapped when I asked her to repeat what she’d said. I laughed until the tears ran down my cheeks while she stood there glowering at me.

“I’m sorry,” I finally managed to splutter. “Are you telling me that you actually believe those children’s’ stories about a big flying castle that swoops down and rewards good children come New Life Eve?”

“Not in the slightest…” she started to say, then stopped and looked at me. “Perhaps,” she amended, “I’ve found that there’s often a grain of truth in even the most fanciful tales. But I’ve spent many years chasing those grains of truth and rarely found anything. Which means that I’ve spent a lot of money and have little to show for it…”

“Which brings you to the second reason you’re here?” I suggested warily.

“I have heard,” she said carefully, “that Telvanni Mage-Lords hire mercenaries and was wondering…”

“Well, I’m no Mage-Lord,” I replied “and have no need of mercenaries at the moment.”

“I’m willing to wait,” she replied. I nodded thoughtfully. I hadn’t really given any thought to the protection of my tower and, given my ambitious plans for my self, I really should. If I rose much higher than my current rank of Spellwright, I could expect the unwelcome attentions of the lower ranking Telvanni who wanted my position. A few mercenaries wouldn’t go amiss.

“I’d be willing to consider you for the position,” I said. “But I need to know that you’re trustworthy. No offence, but you could be here to gain a position with me and use that position to a rival’s advantage. Here’s a couple of hundred Septims as a retainer. Keep your eyes peeled,” I said as I handed over the money, “and when I come back I shall expect a report from you.”

Leaving Kallin Basalius to her assigned task, I followed Llunela’s directions until I found myself at the ruins of Mzanchend. The ruins were only small, much of what had existed was lost behind a massive cave-in, but they did boast a small array of those spider-type animalcules. Having filled a collection pouch with a small number of rubies and diamonds, I finally found what I hoped I was looking for ~ a small sheet of the strange material the Dwemer used for writing and drawing on, covered in bizarre symbols and lines.

There was one other interesting feature in Mzanchend. Opposite the main entrance there was a flight of stairs leading down to a small corridor. At the end was a massive Dwemer door ~ the ornate engraved kind rather than the simple iron doors that you usually find in a ruin. What made this door particularly interesting was the lock that sealed it. It was not a Dwemeric lock; rather it bore the ornate style of local manufacture. Whoever had placed the lock had seriously intended to keep people from whatever was behind the door: no amount of examination or magic seemed to make the slightest difference; it simply would not be opened.

With a resigned shrug, I left the intriguing lock (I admit, its presence there had piqued my interest) and made my way back to Sadrith Mora. There Llunela Hleran had something of a shock for me. She’d been studying the drawing I’d brought back for a while before she spoke to me.

“This device can be made: I have enough knowledge to make it myself. However it can only be used once and it’s going to cost five thousand Septims to produce.”

“Five Thousand!” I exclaimed.

“I’m afraid so,” she replied. “Some of the materials are going to be very difficult to obtain, and there’s a lot of work that needs to be done. It will take me a day, or two, to create this object but once it is done, your tower should be ready fairly quickly.”

It was with a heavy heart that I handed over the money, five thousand Septims represented almost every Drake I had accumulated since arriving here, save the money safely tucked away in the Bank of Vvardenfell. It was with a much lighter purse that I returned to Balmora ~ on the morrow I would have to see what could be done about replenishing my funds.

[OverrideB1]

Maar Gan was my first destination, and I got there by the simple expedient of translocating to Ald’ruhn and then taking the silt-strider. I had taken the precaution of 'dressing down' and was clad in a simple robe and cloak that didn't mark me as a member of anything in particular. This made asking questions of the locals much easier, although the answers were not very helpful. As near as I could determine, there were two Dwemeri ruins near the top of the Foyada Bani-Dad. Either of these could be Bthungthumz.

I expected my journey up the Foyada to be uneventful; it held few dangers for me. I was to find, however, that it still held a few surprises. As I walked along, I became aware of an oppressiveness in the air ~ which had become uncommonly still. The stifling heat increased as the sky started brewing heavy weather. Assuming it to be another of those torrential downpours I’d endured up near Dagon Fel, I raised my hood and carried on.

It soon became apparent that I needed to find some shelter, and find it fast before the very flesh was stripped off my bones. At first the wind-borne ash and dust that the stiffening breeze whipped up was not a major source of worry. But as the breeze became a wind, and that wind grew ever stronger, it picked up more and bigger fragments of ash and dust. Soon the air was thick with flying grit and I could feel it abrading my exposed skin and settling inside my armour even as the surroundings became lost in the swirling morass of dust. Lifting the cloth up around my mouth and tugging down my hood, I pressed on through the ash-storm desperately seeking some shelter.

The caverns known as Sha-Adnius provided a very welcome haven from the howling wind and abrasive dust. Unfortunately, the caves already had some occupants and they were not inclined to be hospitable. Fortunately, they were completely unprepared for my sudden arrival and I’d slain two of their number before they could rally themselves.

The remaining bandits, deciding discretion was the better part of valour, made a very hasty exit from the caverns, fleeing into the still howling storm. Which suited me, I was perfectly happy to have them run or die ~ I have no time or patience for those that prey on weaker people. Like the six I found huddled and shivering fearfully in a locked cage at the back of Sha-Adnius.

“Khajiit know you Telvanni,” one of them said in a puzzled tone as I unfastened the bracer from around her wrist. “Khajiit smell magic of Telvanni on you. Telvanni all slavers, why you release slaves then?”

A good question, and one that deserved a good answer. “Let’s just say that not all Telvanni are slavers,” I said, dropping the hateful hunk of metal on the ground. “But you can’t expect the traditions of thousands of years to die out overnight.”

“Tsani know secret,” the Khajiiti said, taking a hold of my arm. “Slavers not know this secret, but Tsani tell Telvanni.” She took me to a cleft in the rock wall and reached inside. When she withdrew her hand, she had a small egg-shaped yellow stone. Reverently, I took the Ioun stone from her, thanking her gravely as I placed the valuable gemstone in my pack.

It took a couple of hours for the storm to blow itself out, uncomfortable hours with me keeping a wary eye on the six slaves who sat on the opposite side of the chamber to me ~ casting me the occasional baleful or fearful glance. The silence was thick and uneasy: we had nothing in common to talk about, they didn’t trust the fell-handed Telvanni warrior-mage sitting opposite them, and I sure as Oblivion wasn’t going to trust them for a moment. Too many deeply-rooted grievances on their part and I was uncertain whether or not one of them would dig up some ancient slight and decide I was responsible. So, it was with a great sense of relief on all our parts that we went our separate ways.

It wasn’t too long after leaving Sha-Adnius that I spotted one of my possible destinations ~ a massive Dwemeri ruin rising up from the side of the Foyada Bani-Dad. As I approached, I could determine another ruin just a short way to the north. If the information I’d collected in Maar Gan was to be believed, one of these was Bthungthumz. I did have a tiny little, almost insignificant problem. The sheer walls of the Foyada would make it impossible to clamber up to the ruins and I was loathe to expend magicka levitating over the valley walls in case I had need of some small reserves later. I had, of course, a couple of restorative potions with me but again, I didn’t want to use them when there were two ruins to explore and I might need them urgently.

As I walked past the second of the towering ruins, I saw that the side of the Foyada Bani-Dad was breached a little way past the northernmost ruin; a shallow sided gully ran east for a short way before descending into the plains of desolation known as the Molag Amur. Pleased that I didn’t have to walk all the way to the coast and cut around the volcanic ridge, I quickly set off along the defile and cut south until I came to the northern ruins.

This had once been a place of power and majesty, I thought as I surveyed the ruin. The harsh weather and passage of untold years hadn’t been kind to the exterior ~ but the remains of a magnificent bridge spanning two rocky outcrops and the stumps of two statues that had been eroded by time showed that this had been a place of some significance. Presumably, the bridge had once run to an entrance in the side of one of the towers but millennia had compressed and compacted the soft dust of the region into impassable rock blocking the end of the bridge. That left the lower access door.

Once sheltered from the excesses of the weather by the bridge, this too showed signs of intense wear. However, the Dwemeric runes were still visible on the door’s surface ~ spelling out Druscashti. Not the place I was looking for. You remember how I said that I am sometimes too curious for my own good? Well, this was one of those times. The opulence of the exterior spoke of the possibility of some great riches inside, or at least something I could turn to my advantage or profit. Unlimbering my axe, I headed inside.

Those of you who’ve been inside a Dwemeri ruin know exactly what they’re like inside; those of you who have not cannot conceive of the weight of ages and the wonders that can be found inside. There are also perils, as I was soon to discover.

My first intimation that there was something wrong was the strapping Nord I found wandering the corridor at the base of the entryway stairs. He was clad in the fashion of his people: heavy furs and tanned leather. I approached warily, hoping against hope that he was not a bandit that had decided to make Druscashti his lair. For some reason, even when he laid eyes on me, he made no response or move to attack. Emboldened, I stepped in front of him and said, “What are you doing here Nord?”

“Muhhh,” he said in a dazed voice. Other than that, he seemed totally oblivious to my presence. Even when I waved my hand in front of his eyes, he didn’t seem bothered. I backed away; concerned that he might have some disease. His head turned slowly to follow me but that seemed to be the limit of his interest in the matter.

Keeping a wary eye on him, I took a quick glance around to get my bearings. In front of me, a flight of steps led down to a lower level; behind me a similar flight of stairs led to a landing that was obviously filled with the rubble of some long-ago rock fall. To my right was the way back out while, to my left, a short corridor led away into Druscashti, tuning sharply just a short distance away. It was the short corridor that I picked, as I didn’t wish to descend into the lower reaches of Druscashti until I knew what was going on here.

I quickly came to a junction: the passageway in front of me ending in a pair of double doors while another corridor led off to another area. Just to add to my confusion, yet another corridor led off this one a short distance ahead. My indecision was broken by the sound of shuffling footsteps. As I readied myself for battle, an Argonian shuffled around the corner. Like the Nord I’d encountered earlier, he was supremely uninterested in my presence and, as I stood there, he shuffled past me without making any sign of seeing me. Just like the Nord, the Argonian seemed to be the very epitome of good health, just… disconnected in some way.

Rather more warily now, I took the route the Argonian had come from, pressing myself close against the walls and moving with every ounce of stealth I could muster. Peering around the corner, I could just make out a large open area at the end of the short length of corridor. There seemed to be someone moving about in the chamber and I assumed it was another of these dazed folk. That turned out to be a big mistake.

“RAURGH!” the Imperial roared as I stepped into the room. His eyes flashed in the darkness, not so much reflecting light as burning with a fire of their own. If that hadn’t been enough to tell me what it was I faced, the rapidly lengthening canine-teeth removed any doubt. My axe hummed through a short and vicious arc, neatly separating the vampire from the crown of his head. Even this gruesome wound was not enough to slow the vampire down as he slashed at me with fingers suddenly turned into talons.

Ducking under his raking claws, I slammed the butt-end of the axe handle under his chin, using the wooden shaft as a lever to force him away from me. As his head tipped back there was an unpleasant splashing sound and the vampire crumbled to dust in front of my eyes. Breathing heavily, I took a look around to make sure the sound of combat hadn’t attracted others of his kind. What I saw was enough to convince me that I had stumbled into the lair of a vampire clan.

This chamber was obviously a feeding place; the midden piles of crumbling and recent bones were enough to make that obvious. The vampire I’d faced had been powerful enough, after the fashion of it’s kind but had lacked the bestial power of the truly ancient vampire. That meant that there were other vampires, including an Ancient, somewhere in this mausoleum. And that was not a comforting thought.

I could, just possibly, hold my own against a fully-fledged vampire such as the one I’d faced in Shallit ~ maybe even against two. I might even be able to take on an Elder vampire, one whose span of un-life had seeped it in evil and power. But against an Ancient? I would stand about as much chance against that power as a child armed with a stick would against a Knight of Cyrodiil. I knew, from the few things I’d read about the Clans of the Illiac Bay, that Ancients abhorred even the slightest hint of sunlight and were often found in the deepest, darkest crypts and caves. If there were deep dwellings under Druscashti, that’s where the Ancient would be.

And that’s where I would most definitely not be venturing. Moving swiftly, I traced my route back to the entrance and walked into that most unwelcome of things when one is dealing with the Undead. My stay in Sha-Adnius had obviously been longer than I’d thought for, as I slung open the twin doors and stepped outside, I could see the lowering sun just clearing the low ridges. Evening was fast approaching, and evening was the time the vampires would be out in force.

Time was against me. Sooner or later another vampire would enter the feeding chamber and notice the dust of it’s former associate. It would know that one of the living had been in the lair ~ and I would then become the subject of the night’s hunt. I doubted I could make the other ruin in time and, even if I did, there was no guarantee that I’d be able to secure it against a vampiric hunting pack. Heading out across the ash-wastes or back into the Foyada Bani-Dad was just as futile ~ even if I could reach Sha-Adnius, it would be full dark before I got there… if I got there. No, just as I was running out of time, I was running out of options.

Even now, many centuries later, I do not wish to speak of it. The bitter fighting in the long dark beneath the ruins; the running, the screaming, the fear, and the fire as I unleashed spell after spell against the unspeakable evils that I found there. And of the final chaotic fight against the cackling ancient malignancy that drove and mastered the Clan I wish to speak of not at all. I count myself lucky that I survived relatively unscathed and, if I wake every so often screaming as long buried memories bubble to the surface, it is a small price to pay knowing that evil was cleansed from Druscashti by axe, and sword, and flame.

I slept not at all that night, shivering as I sat bloodied and shaken by a small fire outside the ruins. The doors to that place I warded with spells powerful and dire, draining myself of magicka in case I had left some vestige of that black sin unburned.