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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The main square in Ald’ruhn was almost deserted this morning when I translocated there. That might have had something to do with the truly ferocious ash-storm that was whistling through the town. Pulling my hood close around my face, I struggled up the steps to the upper square and into the sheltering walls of the Temple. Shaking the ash from my shoulders, I entered the gloomy interior.

“So, you’re Sed Vahl?” the Proctor said, peering up at me. “Well, I’m Tuls Valen and I expect to be obeyed regardless of whether you’re the head of Great House Telvanni or not. This is Redoran country; your rank gives you no privileges here. Still, I understand that Rotheloth was moderately impressed with you and that you’ve done Kand and the Graces?”

I assured him that I had completed the pilgrimages and he nodded thoughtfully. “So, old Rotheloth set you on Vehk’s path did he? Well, it’s as good a route to piety as any other I suppose. Now, let me see, the next step would be compassion. Listen up Initiate.

“The Lord Vehk struck down his opponent and then healed him. Since it would be impious of you to strike down someone just so you can heal them, we’ll have to find something else that fits.” He riffled through a huge collection of parchments until he found something that caught his eye. “Ah yes, this’ll do…”

“I have here a report from the outpost at Ald Velothi. Seems that they turned away an Orcish Cultist from some nearby Daedric shrine: name of Bulfim gra-Shugarz. Erm, that’d be the name of the Orc, not the shrine,” he said, peering at me. “The shrine is Maelkashishi. Now, I’ll warn you that the cultists in the shrine will not be welcoming, oh no, not at all. “

“And neither will this Bulfim gra-Shugarz?” I hazarded.

“Probably not,” he said, sharply adding, “but that’s rather the whole point. Now, take this potion and don’t loose it, we can’t afford any more until we get some donated. Oh, and by the way, she’s suffering from Ash-Chancre.”

I grinned as I left the Temple, I might just have a little surprise for you Valen, I thought. A quick spell later and I was standing in Gnisis, where a legionnaire told me what I needed to know.

“Ald Velothi?” he said, “Hmmm, that’s up by the coast north of here. There’s two ways you can get there Ser. The first is to follow the road northwards and round; it’s fairly clearly signposted. If, however, your mission is urgent, just a short way out of town is a path known as the Old Guar Trail. It’s a fairly steep climb and there are one or two shaky bridges to cross but it is very much shorter ‘cause it goes across the mountains rather than around.”

I soon came to the Old Guar Trail ~ directly opposite it was a large and well-designed building in the Imperial style. According to the notice hanging from the iron fence, the whole building was up for sale by someone named Spencer of Vivec City. The building was located close enough to Gnisis to be useful but far enough away that the hustle and bustle of the town wouldn’t intrude. Wondering if I’d ever be able to afford such a building, I turned onto the Old Guar Trail and headed towards Ald Velothi.

The legionnaire hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that the bridges slung across the ravines were rickety: the first of the rope-bridges creaked and swung alarmingly as I crossed, clinging onto the ropes for grim death. On the other side of the bridge, a couple of Kagouti decided I would make a passable lunch but the Wish and I were able to persuade them that was a bad idea. Deep in the cave they’d used as a lair, I found a plain wooden chest. It contained a Silver Staff of Peace, surely an indication that a Telvanni had passed this way? Glancing uneasily at the piles of gnawed and chewed bone, I quickly backed out of the rocky cleft and continued on my way.

I was at the top of the hill, just cresting it and starting to walk down the other side when I spotted the Man sitting on a rock a little further down the path. He didn’t appear to be dangerous but you never know and I grasped the hilt of my sword as I walked passed the Redguard.

“Buggerit,” he said clearly, “Millennium’s Hand and Shrimp”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, puzzled by such a nonsensical comment. Now that I was looking at the Redguard, I could see that he obviously wasn’t well – he was shivering despite the heat and great drops of sweat were rolling down his face.

“Sideways!” he exclaimed, waving his hands over his head. “I went and got it installed sideways. Buggerit, buggerit I says.” Seeing my look of total non-comprehension, the Man took a deep breath and, slowly through gritted teeth, ground out, “I got bitten by a Slaughterfish and I don’t feel so well, I think I’m going insane. Going insane? Thank you, I don’t mind if I do.”

Pushing him down onto the rock as he raved, I considered my options. I couldn’t really leave the Man here ~ in his current state he could do himself some real harm. I didn’t know what was wrong with him, and didn’t fancy travelling back to Gnisis to fetch the Man a healer. I had a couple of potions that’d cure common disease or blight but giving him the wrong one might be dangerous ~ besides, I might have need of them before too long. I had a spell that would cure Blight and had been experimenting with a spell that would cure common diseases that I’d picked up from the Tomb of Ancient Wisdom. Taking a chance, I carefully constructed the gleaming white shape of the spell in my mind before chanting, “exsisto rememdium“

Blue-white sparks swarmed around the Redguard like bees, settling on his skin and then sinking slowly beneath. He squirmed and wriggled, but made no move to prevent the spell from working. Quite quickly the colour returned to his cheeks and the profuse perspiration stopped. Shaking his head like someone emerging from a long sleep, the Man grinned and extended his hand in the Western fashion. Grasping it, I helped him to his feet where, after swaying for a moment or two, he could stand easily.

“Thank you ma’am,” the Redguard rumbled, such a surprisingly deep voice from such a small person. “My name is Din, Trooper Din and I was on furlough up near Ald Velothi when I was bitten. I didn’t feel too bad, so I started back ~ after that everything becomes something of a blur. Listen, a Trooper’s pay isn’t great but I’d like you to have this money as a reward for helping me.”

I refused to take his money, adding to his bemusement. Despite the fact he was a soldier of the Empire, we parted on relatively friendly terms ~ with his promise that he’d help me in a similar fashion if he ever could. As he headed off towards Gnisis, I continued to make my way northwards. In this way I travelled over the same route that Din must have traversed and I was amazed that he’d not plummeted to his death off some of the treacherous paths. As the Old Guar Trail came to an end, I saw an amazing sight.

Off in the distance was a Dwemer ruin, perched on the top of a tall spire of rock that had become separated from the rest of the cliff by erosion. This must have happened many years ago because a huge bridge spanned the gap between spire and Cliffside, huge stone arches supporting the massive weight. Unfortunately, the path I needed headed away from the ruins, but I will admit I was sorely tempted to be sidetracked so I could explore. I was so busy looking at the massive stones that I almost walked straight into the woman.

“My apologies,” I said, recovering just in time to prevent myself from sending the slight Breton female over the edge of the path and into a nearby pool.

“Can you help me, kindly pilgrim?” she asked in a soft voice. “I have lost my ring. It slipped off my finger and rolled into yonder pond.”

“And you haven’t retrieved it… because?” I asked. Something about the woman’s fawning attitude made me distinctly suspicious.

“I’m a… dancer, pilgrim,” she said. “I’m due to dance at Ald Velothi this very night. I can hardly go wading around in a muddy pool, my clothes would get ruined.”

I’d caught the slight hesitation when she’d described herself as a ‘dancer’ ~ as I suspected I was supposed to. My paranoia flared full-blown at her explanation. House Redoran was a strict and pious House, and not well endowed with cash since they’d lost the Caldera Mines to House Hlaalu. Add to that the fact that Ald Velothi was a small outpost ~ what would a dancer, even one who didn’t dance, be doing going there? “I’m sorry, but I am engaged on a duty of some importance,” I replied, watching her closely.

She gave a quick glance behind me and I was already moving: spinning away from her as something hummed past me and cut a neat line across the Breton’s upper arm. The robe didn’t hinder me from drawing my sword and, as yet another humming thing sped past me, I stepped neatly behind the slender female and wrapped an arm around her neck: using her as a shield against whoever was throwing shuriken at me.

That someone wasn’t immediately visible, despite my careful search of the area where the darts had come from. Bringing the Ebony blade up, I pressed it against the woman’s throat and hissed in her ear, “Where is your friend?”

The Breton didn’t reply, nor did she have to. Off to my left, a small clump of grass suddenly flattened itself and I fancied I could see a slight shimmer of movement. Thrusting the woman to the left, I dove for the ground as something whipped viciously through the spot my head had been. Even before I reached the dusty path, I was twisting towards the invisible thrower and launched a fireball in that direction. There was a ‘whoomph’ as the fireball detonated against the ground, the splash of liquid flame clearly illuminating the slightly built figure that was now frantically slapping at its armour. With a clearly defined target to aim at, I rushed forward and thrust the blade out.

There was a crunching noise and a section of thin air started to bleed profusely. It was also cursing pretty fluently and that gave me an even better target. From my crouched position, I swung the blade upwards as I straightened, feeling a sudden resistance as a plume of blood, bone, and brains spurted upwards. There was a sudden impact in the small of my back and, staggering slightly, I drove my elbow backwards into the Breton’s midriff. With a sudden exhalation of breath she staggered backwards and, with a sudden wail, vanished over the edge of the path. There followed a loud splash and some vociferous swearing.

Ignoring the cries of “I can’t swim’ (the pool hadn’t looked to be that deep) I searched the area where my invisible foe had been. My fingers brushed a fine chain and the shrill note of illusion-based magic sang in my head. A quick yank and twist, and I was left holding a small silver and jade amulet on a broken silver chain and staring down into the ruined features of a chitin-clad female. The amulet was the only thing of value the bandit carried, and it seemed suitable reward for having been waylaid. The Breton and her ring, if such a ring even existed, I left in the pool.

I had barely travelled a dozen steps when there was the sound of running footsteps behind me. Turning, I extended my hand and spoke the words of the Boiling Blood spell as the Bretonian woman ~ who had, it seems learned to swim very quickly ~ ran right into its nimbus of effect. The result was spectacular, although only from my point of view I suspect. There was a sudden loud hissing, and the red-haired woman vanished into a vast cloud of screaming steam. Try as hard as I could, I couldn’t feel any pity for the Bretonian woman and I spared a quick prayer for those unknown travellers that had been waylaid before I came along.

All too quickly, from my point of view, I found myself approaching Maelkashishi. The buildings were constructed, as are all such ruins, from that black/purple volcanic stone and looked no prettier than any other such ruined shrine I’d seen. In fact, as I drew closer, they seemed to grow even uglier. I flinched as I stepped onto the bottom step of a set of stairs, the building screamed with power ~ so much so that I could actually feel it as a discordant note even through the soles of my shoes. The steps, all odd heights and strange slopes, led up to a flat stone platform that was surrounded by huge square pillars of stone. Oddly shaped panels had been cut into the faces of the pillars and swirling designs decorated the panels. Then there was the door.

It was oval, and seemed to consist of dozens of ‘leaves’ extending from the outer rim to a central point. Slap bang in the middle was what appeared to be a knot of stone, oval in shape and set across the oval of the door. Two depressions, one at the top and one at the bottom, were the only features on the smaller oval. Around the door was a small band of carvings ~ closer examination made me wish I hadn’t examined them any closer, or even notice them in the first place. The ‘knot’ seemed to act as some sort of knob but pulling or pushing against it had no effect on the door. Only when I twisted the knot so the elongated ends were vertical did the door open.

It did so with an unpleasant grating sound, each individual stone leaf seeming to twist impossibly as they folded back into the groove in the door frame. Wishing I didn’t have to enter this ruined shrine wasn’t going to do me any good, so I carefully stepped over the raised lip of the door and into the gloomy interior. My heart leapt straight into my mouth as, grating and grinding, the door slowly sealed itself closed again. A stone brazier, the bowl seemingly chipped and chiselled from the lump of stone, lit a set of stairs heading downwards. Almost on tip-toes, I descended the uneven steps.

An improbably shaped doorway led into the main chamber of the shrine and I quailed when I saw the malignant form of the dapperly-dressed Mad God, cane in hand and blindfold in place, depicted as a huge statue dominating the chamber. Once more I felt that alien regard bearing down on me, that same feeling of being watched by something vast and intelligent, powerful on a level that no mortal could ever aspire to. So forceful was that feeling that I almost missed the shape of a female Orc watching me from the shadows.

“Are you Bulfim gra-Shugarz?” I asked the steel-clad Orc.

“What if I am?” she replied, glowering at me.

“I’ve been sent by the Temple to cure you of the Ash-Chancre you’re suffering from,” I replied.

“Get on with it then,” she snapped. I raised an eyebrow but forbore from making any comment. There was an unsettling light in her eyes, as of madness barely held in check. Not surprising from a cultist of Sheogorath. Licking my lips, I carefully constructed the shape of Aryon’s spell in my mind and let the visualisation of it settle over the hulking form of the Orc.

A spiral of light wound its way around her body, sparkling and wholesome even in the evil atmosphere of this decadent shrine. She stiffened and gasped, the greyish pustules that marred her green skin fading and drying up even as the spell’s light faded. “You are most graciously thanked,” the Orc rumbled, flexing her fingers. “A word of advice pilgrim. I owe you a debt. Because of that I will not rip out your heart and feast on it. I cannot say the same for my fellow cultists.”

I know a warning when I hear one and, barely making a civil response, I fled from the shrine and out into the fresh air. Worried lest Bulfim changed her mind, I wasted little time in chanting the necessary spell and translocating immediately to Ald’ruhn. Tuls was surprised, I think, to see me ~ even more so when I handed him the potion back.

“Well,” he said, looking up at me. “I confess that you have done better than I expected at a mission I thought you’d fail. You have shown remarkable resourcefulness Ser Vahl. I have a book here, one I’ve finished with, that you might find interesting.” With that, he handed me a dog-eared and battered copy of ‘The Four Suitors of Benitah’. Despite the book’s dilapidated condition, it was a valuable reward and I thanked him graciously.

“So,” he said. “We have a problem and, by extension, you have a problem. There is a young Dunmer in Suran claiming to be the Incarnate. This is heresy that the Temple cannot tolerate. Show him the error of his ways and, if you cannot convince him that he is not the Incarnate, he must be brought to justice.”

I returned to Balmora and sat on the bed in the house there. I knew exactly what Tuls Valen meant when he spoke of ‘justice’ ~ it was the justice of the blade. This seemed grievous to me, that a religion that spoke so often about compassion could be so harsh and unforgiving.