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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I spent some time asking questions around the Foreign Quarter this morning, finally finding a Mer by the name of Devas Irano who had some interesting news. For some reason he didn’t want to discuss he was down in the Canalworks and saw a Dunmeri female entering the Underworks. Which he considered to be odd, since there’s nothing down there except rats and sewers.

As the wooden cover that gave access to the sewers under the Foreign Quarter crashed down overhead, I carefully made my way down the rusty iron ladder. The sewers were large tunnels with small ledges along each side of the water channel. Dotted along the length of the sewer were lichen encrusted bridges stretching across the dark, greasy-looking water that filled the stone waterways almost to the top. It was extremely dark down here and, dimly, I could hear furtive squeaking and scurrying as news of my arrival spread through the rodent population. I murmured an incantation and the torch I’d been clutching sparked and sputtered alight. The warm circle of light did nothing to alleviate the oppressive feeling of claustrophobia that gripped me: normally I’m unbothered by enclosed underground spaces.

I span, peering down the tunnel as I heard the soft crunch of a footstep on the stone. A dark shapeless form moved beyond the limit of the light thrown by my torch and my heart lurched. As the soft noises continued, the amorphous shape resolved itself into the form of a woman. I sighed in relief, even as various alarums in my head started to scream. Dunmeri female, Underworks, Netch Leather Armour, tall, dagger… I could put a check mark next to each of those things as I looked at the grinning Dunmer that was stalking towards me.

“Outlander,” she said in a thick, choked voice. “The time of the Lost Ones is upon us. The corruption and filth must be cleansed.”

“Damn’” I said, yanking the Last Wish from its straps atop my pack and gripping the handle-grip tightly. From the tenor of her conversation, I guessed that tall, dark, and gruesome here wasn’t exactly going to be swayed by rational argument. With a speed that was scary, the woman lunged forward and it was only the thick Daedric armour that prevented her from inflicting a serious wound. I reeled backwards, a foul smell emanating from the thin liquid that trickled down the front of the cuirass.

Recovering my balance, I swung the Wish around in an arc, causing the woman to lean backwards to avoid the razor-sharp edge. Twisting as the blade reached the end of its arc, I brought the Wish up and over ~ striking downwards as the woman lunged in again with the poisoned dagger. Even given that I wasn’t the greatest axe-Mer on the Grey Maybe (although I was improving by leaps and bounds) it should have been no contest given that the Dunmeri woman was armed with a short-bladed dagger. Whatever drove her also gave her ferocious strength and terrifying speed. Again and again she dodged blows that should have disembowelled her.

My one advantage was the fact she was armed with a dagger, had she been equipped with a weapon with more reach I would have been in serious trouble. As it was, the humming arc of death that the Wish wove as I twisted and spun kept her at bay. Finally, after what seemed an age, the Last Wish made contact with the woman, scoring a thin cut along the front of the leather armour. She screamed as fire bloomed along the length of the wound and, taking advantage of her distraction, I gripped the handle firmly and drove the curved blade forward the same way that you’d thrust with a sword.

Blood frothed at her lips as I drove the edge of the axe deeper. Her crazed crimson eyes never left my face as, with a final gasp, she collapsed limply ~ only the presence of the axe-blade keeping her upright. Yanking it free, I allowed the female to collapse into a heap as the dagger she’d carried clattered to rest next to my feet. I crouched and examined the dagger, careful not to touch it. The blade was black stone, obsidian or basalt at a guess ~ certainly not Ebony ~ that had been painstakingly chipped and worked to a wickedly sharp edge. The handle of the dagger was of blackened Iron, cunningly wrought to resemble a large beetle. The mandibles of the beetle gripped the blade front and back while the forelegs formed the crosspiece.

Using my own dagger, I cut a strip of the tough leather from the woman’s cuirass and dropped it over the blade before picking it up. Wrapping it tightly, I tucked the leather bundle into my belt and straightened up. I glanced around uneasily. Even the rats seemed to have fallen quiet. I shuddered suddenly, there was something foul down here ~ and I didn’t mean the water flowing sluggishly in the channel. Whatever it was, I wanted no part of it and, with a speed that surprised even me, I clambered back up the iron ladder and threw open the wooden cover so that I could scramble into the Canalworks. Every second I expected something to reach up from the darkness and grab me, and drag me screaming into the foul chambers beneath the Canton.

“Well, we’ll send a couple of Ordinators down there to make sure,” Elam Andas said when I reported back to him. “But, based on the description you gave and the information we’ve gathered, I believe you’ve brought the killer to justice. Now, I can offer you a choice of rewards. The first is this rather fine ensorcelled belt and the other is a cuirass and helm of Indoril armour. Just remember that you won’t be able to wear the armour while you’re in Vivec City ~ the Ordinators will take a very dim view of that.”

I decided that I’d take the belt since I didn’t want to run the risk of forgetting I was wearing the armour and incurring the wrath of the Ordinators. “Is there something else, Ser?” Andas asked in a friendly, yet impatient tone of voice when I remained standing in front of his desk.

“I thought you might like to see this,” I said, dropping the leather-wrapped dagger onto his desk. “It’s the weapon the woman was using.”

The effect on Elam Andas when he unwrapped the dagger was electrifying. With a gasp of sheer horror he dropped the blade as though the beetle had come to life in his hands. Rising from his seat, he muttered something about ‘having to see the Arch-Cannon” and fled the office. As he went, I swear I heard him mutter something about a ‘Lost House’. I had just re-wrapped the dagger and was putting it into my backpack when the door to the office crashed open.

“Did you speak to Trebonius?” Tarer Braryn gasped. I blinked: his face was a mass of tiny red pimples that certainly hadn’t been there yester. Nodding I dug the silver and glass flask out of my pack and handed it to him. Ripping out the stopper, he tipped back his head and drained the contents in one long swallow. “Thank ALMSIVI,” he gasped. “That’s the first time I haven’t had an itch somewhere in two days. Bless you pilgrim, bless you.” In fact, he was so grateful he gave me a hundred Septims for my troubles instead of the fifty he’d offered yester. I almost wished I’d waited a couple of days longer ~ I might have been able to retire on the money he’d paid me.

I was in a suspicious frame of mind when I entered Endryn Llethan’s office. Guess whom I’d seen hurrying out of the High Fane as I’d left the Hall of Justice and walked up the stairs to the plaza? None other than the rather harried-looking Elam Andas. There didn’t seem to be any change in Endryn’s attitude to me: in fact, he was very pleased with me.

“You actually managed to persuade Tanusea Veloth to go to Tel Fyr?” he said. “Very, very impressive. Here, I’d like you to have these two potions of Blight cure: no use against Corprus I know, but you might find them handy.

“Now, you have been much more devoted to the Temple than we expected. I’ve been reviewing your file,” here he tapped a bunch of documents that had been fixed together, “and I see you’ve done the pilgrimage of the Seven Graces, the Maar Gan pilgrimage, and the pilgrimage to Mount Kand. And, according to everything I’ve seen, you certainly deserve a promotion. And that’s where there’s a catch…”

“The pilgrimage of Silence,” he said, when I asked him what the catch was. “Officially, it’s called the Sanctus Shrine Pilgrimage. The catch is that the whole thing has to be undertaken under an oath of silence. If you speak whilst on the pilgrimage, you will have failed. And there is only one chance to do this particular quest.”

“By silence, do you mean I can’t speak at all, or just that I mustn’t speak to anyone?”

“Oh, of course, you’re a Telvanni,” he exclaimed. “No, spells are permitted,” he clarified, “but talking to anyone, for any reason, is not. Now, let me mark the location of the shrine on your map.”

The shrine was on a small smudge of land off the western coast of Dagon Fel Island. It was a very long journey, if you didn’t have magic at your disposal. I indicated I was willing and ready to undertake the pilgrimage and Endryn swore me to silence. Stepping outside, I whispered the words that would translocate me north to Dagon Fel. Studiously ignoring the hails of the locals, I struck off to the west in search of the Sanctus Shrine.

Once I was out of Dagon Fel I was relieved of the injunction to silence and was free to swear freely at the hordes of Cliff-Racers that bombarded me from every angle every dozen or so paces. If I didn’t reduce the local population of these flying vermin to zero, I must have brought it very close. Every single flapping, squawking one in the whole Sheogorad region must have decided that today was the day for the Dark Elf blue plate special.

So, as you can imagine, it was with some relief that I came to the western shore of the island. Sliding down the steep cliff, I cast water-walk and made my way to the nearest likely looking clump of rock sticking up out of the water. I had picked wisely; a gravely path led up from the beach to a small sandy plateau. There, tucked in the corner, was the Sanctus Shrine. Eager to complete the pilgrimage, I bent and read the inscription.

Now I was completely free of the imposed silence, I was free to return to Vivec City. Endryn was pleased to see me back, somehow having received word that I’d completed the pilgrimage. In addition to the promotion to the rank of Adept, he also provided me with some books that he said would teach me some important lessons about the Temple.