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]

“Ummm,” the young Imperial said hesitantly, “I kind of don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

“And I’m pretty certain you aren’t supposed to be anywhere other than in the grave,” I replied.

“Typical,” the youth moaned. “I’ve been undead less than a year and everybody hates me. They hated me when I was alive, and now they hate me when I’m not.”

I blinked in surprise. Vampiric angst, that was precisely what I needed right now. The fledgling vampire continued, “Raxle said it’d all be different when he turned me. I’d have power and, and women, and everything I… urk!”

I coughed as the dust of the vampire I’d just beheaded settled on the floor. Really, I thought as I stepped over the youth’s final remains, I’d done him a favour. I’d certainly done the rest of the world one. His rambling discourse had done me one favour though, I now knew that I was facing a vampire clan rather than just a pack of the leeches. Vampiric packs hunted to feed, not to create new vampires ~ it was only the Clans that did that, expanding their power by creating new vampires. I shivered, I still had nightmares about the clan I’d decimated beneath Druscashti and I hoped against hope that this clan was younger than Clan Quarra.

I was faced now with a choice: directly in front of me was a round iron door, to my right was another. The door on my right bore some Dwemer runes but they were faded and difficult to read, even if they hadn’t been I wouldn’t have understood what they were telling me. However, it quickly became obvious that the choice was no choice at all ~ the door to my right was locked and the Dwemeric mechanism that secured it proved too complex for me to pick and remarkably resistant to the powers of Ondusi’s ring. That left the door directly in front of me. Licking my lips, I applied a little grease to the rusty hinges and then pulled it towards me.

The door swung open silently and would have secured me the element of surprise against the occupants had not the bare-chested Breton been looking directly at the door as it swung open. He’d been about to say something but the words died on his lips when he saw me. Grinning evilly, he vaulted effortlessly over the table in front of him and began advancing on me. Nor was that my only problem: swirling purple sparks surrounded a vampiric female at the back of the chamber as she cast some spell to enhance herself and started to stalk me too.

“What are you? Ahh, I see.” A third vampire had made its presence known, stepping from behind the thick pillar that had obscured her from my sight. Three against one: not exactly my favourite odds, even when the three weren’t slavering blood-suckers intent on my demise… or worse. I suddenly had a vivid image of myself wandering these halls with a slave-bracer clamped to my wrist ~ a handy snack for any of the Clan who felt peckish.

“Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata,” I yelled desperately as the trio moved closer. There was a familiar grinding noise and the massive frame of a Storm Atronach ripped itself free of the metal walls and stood before me. Strange lights flickered in its eyes as it glared down at me and I gulped, aware that sometimes these Summons turned on their Summoner. The greed of the vampires is probably all that saved me, the bare-chested Breton rushing to close the gap between us ahead of his female companions so he’d be the first to feed.

Massive metallic hands clamped themselves around the vampire’s head as the Atronach yanked him up and off his feet, muffled screams issuing forth as the Summoned’s power ripped into him. Shaking him like a doll, the Atronach proceeded to hammer the hapless vampire against the metal walls, each impact a knell of doom. It had the added advantage of causing the two females to slow their advance as they realised it was no helpless adventurer that had invaded their stronghold.

A hastily thrown dagger found its mark, the handle blooming from the left eye-socket of the nearest vampire. While she was occupied with rolling around on the floor and screaming, I cast a quick fireball at the third vampire and then rushed her as she tried to recover her balance. The Last Wish hummed as it travelled in a short killing arc, the curved blade burying itself in the vampire’s chest. I had been aiming for the heart but the Chitin armour had slowed the blow enough to prevent it from reaching its intended goal. Ripping the blade from her chest, the vampiress grabbed me and lunged forwards, fangs extended.

I felt a sharp prick at the throat and screamed. Unbidden, the boiling blood spell rose up in my mind as I attempted to shove the leech away from me. Then it was the vampire’s turn to scream as the spell wrapped itself around her. Shoving the rapidly blackening and threshing form away from me, I staggered to my feet ~ clutching my throat to stop the flow of blood from the twin wounds there.

The ruined face of the vampire I’d thrown the dagger at leered at me, her remaining eye glowing as she muttered some arcane cantrip. I staggered, feeling my will to resist fading as her eye grew brighter ~ the foul infection from the bite already working within me. Her smile widened as her jaw unhinged, glistening canine-teeth lengthening as she drew me closer step by staggering step. The descent of the huge metallic fist came as a real surprise to both of us. The Atronach, finding itself clutching naught but a handful of dust had turned its attention to the last remaining vampire, and its intervention certainly saved me from the proverbial fate worse than death.

As the Atronach faded from view, I bent and picked up the axe ~ swinging it in a short and final arch that decapitated the vampire easily and neatly. As the fine dust settled, I sank to my knees and gasped heavily, panting for breath. That had been a little intense… and it was about to get worse.

The door at the back of the chamber opened with a boom of metal on metal and two more vampires raced into the room, each yelling variations of “What’s going on in here?” Three piles of dust mutely answered their questions and their baleful gazes turned on me. With a heartfelt sigh, I raised myself to my feet and gripped the shaft of the axe.

“Let’s dance,” I suggested. There followed a whirlwind of motion as, drawing on reserves of strength and fortitude I didn’t know I had, I rushed at them ~ the Last Wish humming a song of death as it whirled and span in my hands. My mind is a blur about what happened next: I have recollections of severing various appendages and casting spells but there is nothing specific there. I can only suppose that fear and need blanked out all conscious thought while my survival instinct and reflexes took over.

My next clear memory is of draining a phial of restore magicka potion. The front of my robe was sodden with gore and the curve of the axe was pouring a stream of blood onto the floor. For some reason, my sword was jammed into the doorjamb of the unopened Dwemer door and a pile of gritty black dust spoke of the death of a vampire there. The atmosphere was crackling with recently discharged magic and large charred scorch marks marred the walls of the chamber. Perhaps I should rely on fear and instinct more often?

I shuddered uncontrollably as the memories of the bite came back. I fancied I could already feel the infection warping and twisting my nature. How long I had before the disease of vampirism corrupted me I didn’t know, and despair washed over me. The treasures I found in the two chambers scarcely lifted my mood, even the presence of a pair of boots in the same heavy material as my armour failed to cheer me. Although, truth be told, my depressed mood didn’t stop me from taking them, and the glass boots, and the multitude of lock-picks, probes and repair tools I found. As I sifted the fine dust of one of the vampires into a collection jar, I spotted a strangely wrought key.

The complex Dwemer lock clicked as I twisted the key and the heavy iron doors swung open. In the yellowish glow of the Dwemer lights a short corridor was revealed, terminating in a large circular chamber. Beside a workbench in this chamber stood an elderly Cyrodiilic male.

“So you’ve killed all my children have you?” the Man said, turning to face me. “Well, Clan Berne isn’t destroyed yet ~ I have aeons to rebuild and replenish. And I fancy I’ll start with you.” He stepped forward, eyes burning brightly. “Although I see you’re already well on your way to becoming one of us,” he leered.

“Not in this lifetime vampire,” I spat.

“For three hundred years I stalked the streets of Camlorn,” Berne said, “until those blasted vampire-slayers came. Gathering the remains of the Clan I came here. And some chit of a Dark Elf female isn’t going to stop me.” His shoulders hunched and there came a tenebrous creaking noise as his head dropped. I stepped back, as the vampire elder seemed to swell, growing taller and broader. There was nothing remotely mortal about his face when he looked up ~ huge fangs protruding from a cavern of a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, nose flattened, and forehead bulging. From beneath the shelf of his brow, his feral eyes gleamed with a luminous red light and the desire for death and destruction.

Snarling, he rushed at me ~ all claws, fangs, and the need to feed. My axe hammered into him as he came, the back and forth blow barely slowing him. Whipping the Wish up, I brought it down hard on the spot where his thick, studded armour met his muscular neck. He howled, throwing his head back ~ allowing me the time to step back and draw my Ebony blade from its scabbard. Furious, scared senseless, desperate, I drove forward with the blade, embedding it in his black heart and forcing him, teeth snapping, backwards towards the wall of the chamber. With a thump, he struck the wall and I braced myself, working the blade deeper and deeper until I felt the point grating on metal.

“NO!” he screamed. “THIS CANNOT BE. I AM RAXLE BERNE. I AM…” The soft patter of dust on the floor prevented me from hearing what he thought he was ~ his sudden dissolution catching me unawares and causing me to pitch forward into the wall. Ears ringing and various constellations whirling about my head, I staggered backwards and sat down ~ suddenly and undignified.

I let out a weak laugh of triumph that dissolved into a series of sobbing cries. Shakily, the storm past, I rose to my feet and staggered over to the workbench. Using it to support myself, I took a while to adjust to the fact that I was still standing and, for the moment, still alive. How long that state of affairs would continue remained to be seen. My prize, a thick and antique volume, lay on the work bench: the dust of ages thick on its cover.

Blowing the accumulated dust of the ruins and Raxle Berne off it, I picked it up and opened it. Page after page of bizarre drawings annotated with spidery Dwemeric script greeted me. I skimmed though the book, coming at last to the final page. Sparkling script in yellow ink caught my eye and I felt a hammer-like blow to the head. Screaming, clutching my eyes as cold, soulless sounds in a language long forgotten thundered in my mind, I dropped the book and sank to my knees. “Please,” I begged, “no more.”

I don’t know if the power that watches over me heard, or whether whatever I had triggered ran its course, but the thunderous sounds came to an abrupt end. Shakily, I reached out and picked up the book, flinching when I saw that it was still open to the final page. A blank page. Frantically, I flipped over the heavy, greasy feeling parchment ~ page after page of drawings and notes but not a trace of the strange yellow text.

Bone-weary, I staggered from the ruins, wincing as the sun struck my bare flesh. Everything seemed too bright and too hot despite the fact it was after the noon hour. Dragging my pack through the dust, I staggered back the way I’d come. Never has the sight of my Tel been more welcome than when I crested the final hill and weaved my way down the slope. Kallin Basalius and Raissu Asserbas saw me and came running towards me.

“Here, let me take that,” Raissu said, taking the strap of my pack from my unresisting hand. “My Gods, you look terrible.”

“Get the apothecary,” Kallin snapped, taking the bag from Raissu.

“What?” Raissu said.

“Quickly,” Kallin hissed. “Can’t you see she’s been bitten?”

Clapping her hand to her mouth, Raissu raced off towards the stronghold while Kallin, supporting my weight helped me walk the last couple of hundred yards. The apothecary, Gorven Menas, was waiting for us when we drew near. Walking over, he examined my eyes and checked the inside of my mouth. “You were quite right Kallin,” he said sombrely, “definitely suffering from the vampiric disease. Drink this Arch-Magister,” he said, pressing a small silver and glass flask into my hand. I drank deeply, feeling the corruption withering and dying as the potion restored and reinvigorated me.

“In its early stages,” the apothecary told me as I returned the handsome flask, “vampirism can be treated like any common disease. A simple potion, scroll, or spell will fix you right up. The disease takes fully three days to irrevocably corrupt…”

“You mean I could have cured myself at any time with a spell I know well?” I wheezed in amusement, interrupting him. He nodded, and I laughed aloud. Not that I had any intentions of tangling with another vampire Clan, like ever, but it was good to know that I had the means to prevent myself from joining their undead ranks. Kallin helped me into the tower and guided me towards the bed. Gratefully, I collapsed onto the soft mattress and relaxed.