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 must have fallen asleep listening to the storm at some point for I woke with a start ~ to a totally dark tent. Lighting a lantern soon revealed the problem, last night’s heavy snowfall had completely buried my tent: fortunately the covering of snow was barely a hand’s breadth deep and I was able to dig my way out and recover my tent and belongings with minimal effort. Having broken my fast, I checked my maps and lodestone before setting off across the crunching snow towards the island the stone had indicated.

I thoroughly enjoyed my walk through the mountain passes of the Moestring range, covered in snow as they were they made a breathtaking sight. Even the steep descent onto a field of creaking blue ice didn’t ruin the day. Unfortunately, my day was to become less pleasant in short order. The island, when I reached it, was nothing more than a bare stub of rock protruding from a field of ice. The only thing that broke its monotony was a single black creature. I’d seen these things from afar ~ the Skaal called them Horkers, although I never seen one as black as this one. As I approached, the creature shuffled away from me.

“Stupid critter,” I cussed as it slithered away from me as I approached it again. Every time I moved towards it, it would quickly wriggle its way away from me ~ whenever I stopped, it did. I stopped and slapped my forehead. “Stupid Vahl,” I amended, “follow the Swimmer you dummy.”

Now that I wasn’t being silly, things progressed much more quickly, the creature undulating its way across the island towards the ‘beach’ as I followed. “Hey, wait, where…” I spluttered as, never even pausing, the Horker splashed its way into the waves and disappeared beneath the water. About three body-lengths from the beach, a sleek black head broke the surface and mournful eyes. “Okay, okay,” I snapped, “I get the picture.” There was, however, no way that I was going to undress and swim in that glacial water.

Casting water-walk, I stepped out onto the undulating surface of the sea and walked towards the Swimmer. It regarded me for a moment as I approached and then, with a flick of the tail, headed out towards the open sea. I followed, swigging from a bottle of restore magicka potion as we moved further and further from land and I had to recast Water-Walk several times. Finally we came to a spot in the middle of the aquatic nowhere that surrounded me and the Swimmer started to circle around and around. At first I didn’t understand ~ then I realised that where I needed to be was deep under the water and that I was going to get wet, and cold, anyway.

Fumbling in the side pocket of my pack, I withdrew the small silver flask of greenish liquid. I’d been carrying it for months, reluctant to use it even though Gorven Menas assured me that it was perfectly safe. Well, I was about to find out the hard way if I cut the mustard as an alchemist. Popping off the top of the flask, I drained the musty tasting fluid as the structure and form of the water-walking spell collapsed. With barely a ripple, I sank beneath the surface of the water and struck downwards in the direction the Swimmer was swimming. I have, in the course of several centuries, experienced many strange things. Very few of them compare to the bizarre sensation of ice-cold water filling your lungs as you breath water.

Deep in the murk, the Swimmer led me to a small cave entrance. The Horker showed no inclination to enter so I made the assumption that this was where it had been leading me and that I was now on my own. Taking a deep gulp of water, I swam down into the entrance. A narrow tunnel led downwards a little way before curving sharply upwards. Ahead of me was the faintest glimmer of light. Which was a good thing…

On hands and knees I crawled from the water onto the ice-slicked rock, hacking up a lung-full of water or, more accurately, two lungs-full. The transition from being able to breath water to not being able to breath water had been… unpleasant. As my coughing echoed around the cavern I heard a click-click noise ~ one I was very familiar with. Shivering, my hair hanging lankly in my eyes, I grabbed the hilt of the Blodskal and unsheathed it. The faint blue glow was more than sufficient to show the skeletal form advancing down the tunnel towards me.

With a savage yell, I hurled myself at the skeletal warrior, the heavy blade of the sword crushing one shoulder to powder. The unnatural soldier staggered, and I followed up with a series of punishing blows that struck glittering chunks of bone from the creature’s form. Whatever charm held it together was tenuous, as I hammered home another series of violent blows the skeleton simply came unravelled. With a snort of derision, I kicked the skull as far out over the water-filled defile as I could, smirking as I watched it sink slowly out of sight.

That done, it was time to explore the caves (a place I would later discover was called Stahlman’s Gorge). Not that there was much to explore, the tunnel sloped upwards a short way before ending in a large chamber. There, set on a block of ice, was a simple pewter flask. Picking it up, I cast Recall ~ staggering at the sudden transition from a level surface to one with a pronounced slope. The flask that I’d been clutching dissolved between my fingers and the stone in front of me began glowing with a faint blue light.

Taking my bearings from the map and the lodestone, I struck off in a roughly easterly direction, heading back towards the Skaal village. I had but one stone to complete and my quest was over. The trip back took a little over two hours and the chorus spoke to me the instant I drew near the final stone, “Find the Good Beast when thou travel south, and ease its suffering”.

South would take me to Lake Fjalding, so I headed down to the shore and had a look around. Seeing nothing that would meet the criteria, I continued along the western edge of the lake towards the forest. As I reached the southern end of Lake Fjalding, I heard a series of excited yelping sounds from up ahead; a deep, basso roar followed these. Skidding to a stop atop a small rise, I looked down into the area below me. Several of those little blue-skinned creatures were screaming and yelling, waving their swords or bows about. The object that was the centre of their attention was a large snow-white bear.

My first arrow took the furthest blue-skinned creature in the throat, punching it from its feet to land sprawling in the snow. Even as the other creatures were reacting to this, my second arrow arrived ~ this one punching into the shoulder of one of the creatures and making it howl. Even more arrows followed, I had been firing smoothly and easily from my vantage point and had launched all seven arrows ~ one after the other ~ before the first arrived on target. Unfortunately, the milling confusion that followed the first two hits meant that my aim wasn’t at its best ~ two of the remaining five arrows struck vulnerable targets, the remaining three were enough to cause consternation.

That was nothing to the panic that ensued as I came howling down the hill, screaming an ancient Dunmeri war cry as I span the Blodskal over my head. Two of the remaining creatures broke and ran while another two came barrelling through the snow to meet me. The blade, fairly screaming through the air with the momentum I’d given it, tore into the upper arm of the nearest creature. Thin armour crumpled underneath the force of the blow and I felt a jolt of strength rush into me as the blade’s magic-spell was triggered. Dragging the blade from the ruined chest of the quivering midget, I span to face the second of my opponents. Who was a faint blob on the horizon…

Making soothing sounds I approached the bear, wincing as I saw the wicked looking arrow jutting from its hindquarters. The massive beast shivered violently as I cut the barbed arrow free but made no sound or move to attack. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the wound, allowing the gleaming white construct of the healing spell to form in my mind. A warm snuffling in my ear broke my concentration and I opened my eyes to see the beast sniffing me. Tentatively I reached out and patted it on the snout, grinning broadly as it made a chuffing sound and shook its head ponderously.

Experimentally I took a couple of paces to the north, back towards the standing stone. After a moment’s hesitation, the massive snow-white bear followed. In the manner, the bear following me, we approached the last standing stone. As we drew near, the stone started to shimmer with a white light and I felt a sudden rush of power run through me. The bear walked right to the base of the stone and then, with a hollow roar, simply faded from existence. With a complete lack of surprise, I nodded my head ~ spectral bears were one of the less odd things I’d seen over the last couple of days.

“So, finished the stone-quest, you have,” Tharsten Heart-Fang said as I stood before him in the Great Hall. “Impressed we are. This…” here he hefted a massive silvery-coloured mace that sang sweetly with ancient magic “…belongs by right to you.” Tharsten seemed oddly reluctant to hand me the mace but Korst stepped from the shadows behind the Chieftain’s chair and whispered in his ear. “I gift you the Mace of Aevar Stonesinger, for loyalty to the Skaal proving. Grieves me, it does, to give an outsider such a prized possession o’ the Skaal but, deserved it ye have.”

“Forgive me for asking,” I said as I eyed the mace eagerly, “but what can you tell me of little blue Men, strange women who carry daggers like this, and trees that will not die?”

“Trees that willnae… Oh aye,” Tharsten said, his initial puzzlement fading as he realised what I was talking about. “They be Spriggans,” he said, “whither they come is beyond the ken o’ the Skaal. Mighty fierce creatures they be, and tae have killed one is an act worthy o’ any Skaal warrior.

“The wee blue Men o’ which ye are speaking,” he continued with a smile, “are the Rieklings. We ken all too well where they be from…” I waited to hear where they came from but on that subject Tharsten Heart-Fang wouldn’t be drawn. Instead he asked to see the dagger. The instant I laid it on his hand, he hissed and snatched his hand back ~ the silver blade clattering to the floor.

“Fryse Hag,” he spat, kicking the dagger away. “What call them you? Ah yes, witch women.” Scooping up the dagger, I tucked it back into my belt, reflecting as I did that here was probably the source of the stories about Nordic males and witches. However, I was not so unobservant as to miss the heavily lidded gaze that Korst Wind-Eye had turned on his Chieftain. Interesting, I thought, although I had no idea why. Perhaps being amongst the Telvanni has heightened my powers to detect intrigue when it’s about.