The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Vehk's Path Options

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When I awoke this morning, I was certainly feeling the effects of my fight with Gothren and the Clan Berne. Every single bone in my body seemed to ache and the fatigue I felt screamed in every fibre of my being. Wearily, I opened a portal to Sadrith Mora and translocated to the market square. Llunela took possession of the book eagerly, summoning one of her seemingly inexhaustible supply of messengers to take it to Baladas Demnevanni immediately. “If you’ll pardon me for saying so Sed Vahl,” she said, after examining me for a moment, “but you don’t seem to be very well.”

“It’s been a hard few days,” I responded. “The fight with Gothren wasn’t easy and somebody neglected to mention that Galom Daeus was crawling with vampires.”

She bit her lip and bowed her head, “I beg your forgiveness Arch-Magister,” she said contritely and formally, “I was unaware that vampires had made Galom Daeus their lair.”

“It’s of no consequence Llunela,” I told her firmly, “what is done is done, and there’s no need to make a fuss about it.”

“Thank you Sudhendra,” she said, relief coming off her like steam. “Have you used a large number of healing spells and potions recently?” she suddenly asked. When I confirmed that this was so, she nodded as if in understanding. “I thought as much. Scrolls, potions and spells can only repair so much damage and they consume a lot of the body’s resources to do so. Perhaps a visit to the Imperial Cult shrine up at Wolverine Hall is in order. Or, if you wish to avoid the Imperials, there are a number of very effective healers in Temple.”

“The Temple?” I asked, remembering the large structures in Balmora and Gnisis. “Do you really think that they can help?”

“I’m sure of it Sed Vahl,” she replied. She promised to keep me apprised of the progress on my stronghold while I made preparations to visit the Temple in Balmora.

It was with fairly mixed feelings that I mounted the sweeping stairs that led to the enclosed Balmoran Temple. On the whole, I tended to avoid religious organisations: mostly because the beating that my foster-father administered were so often given in the name of Stendarr, or Mara, to hammer the sin out of me. Don’t get me wrong, the Imperial Cults have done some sterling work but I was leery of them nonetheless. And this… foreign cult that seemed to dominate so much of Vvardenfell? I knew very little of it other than it controlled the Ordinators and wielded a great deal of power.

“Greetings traveller,” the soft voice of a robed and hooded priest sounded strangely harsh in the austere surrounding of the Temple building. Everybody knew about alien religions: the bizarre graven images, the strange behaviour, the wild chanting to unspeakable gods. Aside from a few wall-hangings and a strange circular pit set into the floor, the building was bereft of the trappings I’d expected. Indeed, the Temple was more austere than any Cult building I’d been in: the only oddity a triangular obelisk with engraved images on the front that stood in one corner. “How may we help you?” the priest continued.

I explained my situation in broad terms, leaving out my position as head of Great House Telvanni since I wasn’t certain what frictions might, or might not, exist between House and Temple. I really shouldn’t have bothered ~ I’d forgotten how gossipy the natives of this small island were, and just how quickly news can travel. “Of course we can help Sed Vahl,” the priest responded.

He led me over to the plinth I’d noticed earlier, asking me for a small donation to maintain the Temple. I handed over twenty-five Septims and, following his instructions, placed my hands on the cool stone and repeated his words, “May the blessings of ALMSIVI wash over me. May the strength of their power cleanse and heal me. May the light of their wisdom guide me now and in all things. The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.”

I gasped as a great power flooded into me, almost blinded by the brilliant sparks that swirled around me. I felt the bone-weariness fall away and the ache I’d woken with dissipate and vanish. Dropping my contact with the stone, I looked at the priest and smiled, “That was amazing.”

“Indeed,” the priest said. Then, in that soft accusative tone that priests seem to specialise in when speaking to their wayward flock, he added, “It has been many years since a member of Great House Telvanni saw fit to grace the Temple with their presence.” Pushing back the cowl of his robe to reveal a strong and handsome face, he added, “Their absence has often been noted by Temple hierarchy and commented upon. The poor grace with which missionaries are greeted in Telvanni lands, and the dearth of established Temples are also well known to us.”

Feeling as though I’d just stepped onto a very dangerous ledge, I said, “While I have the authority, I don’t have the power to compel my fellow Mage-Lords to do things they don’t wish to.”

“This is well known to us Sed Vahl,” he said softly, “we may be insular, but we are aware of Telvanni ways ~ even here in Balmora. That you are a stranger in a strange land and don’t know of our ways is also known to us. That Telvanni mores keep you doubly ignorant grieves us bitterly.”

“So, what would you suggest?” I asked.

“That you join the Temple,” he said simply, “openly and freely.”

“Um, what would that entail?” I asked, visions of being ordered to relinquish my hard-won position in Great House Telvanni floating through my mind.

“Nothing as drastic as giving up your current position Arch-Magister,” the priest said, causing me to shoot him a dark look. “A guess at your thoughts only,” he quickly assured me, reading my look as plainly as a book. “The duties would not be onerous,” he continued, “save that you would be required to undertake some pilgrimages to demonstrate your devotion, and some small tasks to demonstrate your piety. Such things, done without any surety of reward, would make a powerful statement from one in your position.”

And that is how I came to join the local Temple, guided by the subtle hand of that Power which had taken such interest in my dealings of late. Although that fact was not revealed to me until much, much later.

Feldrelo Sadri gave me a book entitled “The Pilgrim’s Path”. “It is the duty of all novices to complete the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces,” he informed me, the capitals dropping almost audibly into place. “By following in the steps of the Lord Vehk, they demonstrate their devotion to the Temple and to the grace of ALMSIVI. When you have completed the pilgrimage, I will assess you and give you further tasks. Or, if you wish, you can visit Temples elsewhere on Vvardenfell and undertake duties for them.”

Bowing low, Feldrelo Sadri went deeper into the recess of the Temple, leaving me with a book and a pilgrimage to undertake. The book contained details of each of the seven shrines a novitiate needed to visit, along with details of what was required at each of the locations. Some, such as the shrine at the Fields of Kummu, had long and detailed descriptions ~ others, such as something called the Puzzle Shrine, had only the vaguest of instructions for getting to them and no detail at all about what was expected. One, called the Shrine of Red Mountain, was wreathed around with dire warnings about what dangers could be expected there.

Feeling that there was no time like the present, and being only a short distance from the first shrine detailed in the book, I caught the silt-strider to Suran: spending the time reading and re-reading the Pilgrim’s Path. One thing I knew for certain, the cowled, woollen robe I’d been given would take some getting used to after so long wearing fine clothing. Fortunately, the robe was big enough to fit over my armour, although Feldrelo Sadri had disapproved of me keeping it on. Which just went to show how little he really knew of Telvanni ways: the armour and the envenomed blade beneath my pillow were the only things between me and an ‘unfortunate, accidental stab in the dark.’ I’d also insisted on keeping the blade and axe with me, preferring to rely on them rather than the stout wooden staff I’d been given along with the robe.

As I crossed the bridge over the Nabia on my way towards the Fields of Kummu, I realised that the stout staff made an excellent walking aid. The road wended its way through the pleasant Ascadian countryside, the air redolent with the smell of late blooming flowers and the crisp tang of winter’s onset. It wasn’t too long before I’d arrived at the small triangular plinth that marked the shrine. Having had the foresight to purchase a small packet of Muck from the alchemist in Suran, I placed the glutinous substance in the bowl provided and read the stanza engraved on the shrine.

Grace of Humility: "Thank you for your humility, Lord Vivec. I shall neither strut nor preen in vanity, but shall know and give thanks for my place in the greater world."

According to the Pilgrim’s Path, the next nearest shrines (three of them) are to be found in Vivec City. Accordingly, I shall make those my next priority. I returned to Balmora and sought shelter in the Temple, figuring that if the Camonna Tong wished to wreak bloody vengeance on me, the fact I was on hallowed ground might give them pause.

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According to the book, the third shrine was known as the Puzzle Shrine and it was located at “the heart of the palace”. Somehow I didn’t think they meant the actual living quarters of the Lord Vehk besides, the heavily sealed doors kind of told you to keep out. So, I thought, if the heart is the centre of things, then surely the heart of the palace was the middle of the palace? Following that reasoning, I walked ~ or, to be more accurate, bounced ~ down the stairs until I came to the third tier. Two above and two below, I thought, rising up over the handrail and splashing down into the fast running water channel. The grating over one of the spouts opened easily and I scrambled through the opening and into the Palace’s infrastructure.

Spluttering and coughing, I rose up through the murky water and made my way up a ramp to the stone ledge that ran around the channel. From far below I could hear the rumbling of some power ~ presumably what pumped the water up from the canals to the top of the structure. After dealing with the rats that had made themselves quite at home here, I explored my surroundings. I didn’t find a shrine, but I did find another grating that opened easily in the tunnel that connected the two waterways.

This deposited me underwater in a storage chamber of some kind. Breaking the surface, I wheezed for breath as I struggled to the steps that rose up to a sort of platform. Feather-enchanted Daedric armour may be tough and light, but it’s a real bugger when it’s filled with water. The platform, a sort of long bridge that sat flush against one wall and ended jutting out over the water held only one thing of any interest ~ a simple stone shrine. Squelching slightly, I walked over to it and examined it. Unlike the other shrines, this stone block was unadorned and bore no religious iconography. Instead there was a simple brass plaque attached to each of the three faces. They simply said: Breathe the Waters of His Glory and the Way will be made Clear.

A horrible, horrible suspicion stole over me as I stood there contemplating those words. They surely couldn’t mean what I thought they did. I frantically examined the featureless stone walls of the chamber, even going as far as checking out the two tiers above and below this one. The third tier was the only place that had access to this chamber ~ the others were completely shrine-free. My fears were, it seemed, fully grounded in fact.

“You have got to be completely mad Sudhendra,” I told myself as I peeled off my sodden clothing and armour and stood there contemplating the sparkling waters. Taking a deep breath I hoped wouldn’t be my last; I descended the steps and allowed the water to close over my head. The body, Man or Mer, is a wonderful thing and it absolutely will not relinquish its grip on life unless forced to do so. I had steeled myself, or so I thought, for the ordeal to come but the first trace of water down my throat had me threshing about and striking out for the surface where I drew in great gulps of life-sustaining air.

Twice, thrice, four times I tried before dragging myself out of the water onto the cold stone and curling up in a little ball. Rocking backwards and forwards, I let my frustrations out. As I did so, I came to realise the purpose of this step of the pilgrimage and understood that I had been approaching it incorrectly. I had viewed this as an ordeal, something to be gripped by the throat and throttled into submission. I now understood that this was not the case. It was, very simply, a test of a pilgrim’s faith. Or, to be more accurate ~ a test of their Faith.

Standing at the water’s edge, the little ripples playing over my toes, I bowed my head and spread my arms. “My Faith, My Life,” I said, repeating a phrase I remembered from childhood. It seemed, somehow, apt. Eyes firmly forward, I exhaled and stepped quickly into the water. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth; drawing in what I was sure would be my last. Fire bloomed in my chest and my heart hammered as water flooded down my throat, filling lungs never meant to receive it. Thunder roared in my ears as a red-tinged blackness crept into the corner of my vision, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Had I the air to do so, I would have screamed, instead I clawed at my throat desperate for one last sip, the slightest hint of life-giving air. Up, up and out ~ that was all I could think of but my limbs were so heavy, so heavy. From somewhere there was a peal of thunder.

Suddenly my lungs were full of air and I rose to the surface, breaking the surface like some startled sea-creature. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or fall on my knees and pray. Walking from the waters, I looked around. I was startled to notice that the bridge seemed to have extended all the way to the other wall and, where there had been featureless stone before, there was now a chamber. Quickly donning my clothing (a tiny part of my mind noting that they were still exactly where I’d left them: disproving any theory I might have had about teleportation) I made my way up the newly revealed stairs and stood facing a Dremora Lord.

My hand dropped immediately to the hilt of my sword but the creature made no move to attack. Instead, it spoke to me, “If you would strike down an unarmed foe, I will not stop you. However, there are weapons in that chest I can defend myself with if you’ll pass me one.”

My eyes alighted on the familiar shape of a stone Shrine at the top of the stairs behind the Dremora Lord. If he wouldn’t attack, I had no need to attack it and I could just walk up to the shrine. The Oblivion-spawn had other ideas. “You may not pass,” it said, moving to block my approach. “Only by killing me may you approach the Shrine.” It then repeated the bit about an unarmed foe. I am Telvanni, and killing to get what you want, or where you want to be, is what we do best: but something about this situation struck me as odd. Here stood a scion of Oblivion, a creature not exactly known for its self-restraint, damn’ near begging me to strike it down in cold blood. Nearby was a chest containing weapons it could use to defend itself. Yet it made no move to obtain a weapon of its own volition, instead asking me to provide it with one.

Turning, I opened the chest and plucked out one of the silver swords that it contained. Throwing it to the Dremora Lord, I drew my own sword and adopted a battle-stance. Effortlessly catching the sword, the creature gave a sardonic bow. “You may now pass and read the inscription,” it said, laying the sword on the ground at its feet and crossing its arms. The name of the Shrine should have clued me in much earlier: the whole thing was a test ~ a puzzle ~ to be solved. A test of faith and a puzzle of a creature that asked for the means to defend itself. Inclining my head, I walked past the creature and read the Shrine’s inscription.

Grace of Courtesy: "Thank you for your courtesy, Lord Vivec. I shall speak neither hurtful nor harsh word, but shall speak respectfully, even of my enemies, for temperate words may turn aside anger."

I turned and strode away from the shrine, seconds later realising that I’d forgotten all about the ‘blessing’ from the Grace of Daring. Hovering a good twenty feet above the floor I realised that there was no way I could continue the pilgrimage until that ‘blessing’ had worn off. Besides, I had much to consider.