The Tale Of Sudhendra Vahl: Mad Gods, Being the ninth chapter... Options

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The first things I wanted to do this morning were to put some of my recently acquired funds into the Bank of Vvardenfell; I also wanted to deliver the Amulet of Infectious Charm to Louis Beauchamp. To that end, I opened a portal after breaking my fast and stepped though into the dusty streets of Ald’ruhn.

“The amulet,” Louis gasped when I handed the twinkling charm over to him. He listened with a distracted air as I relayed the fate of the missing airship: somehow I think the loss of the craft and its crew was of secondary importance to him. He did, however, pay me two thousand Septims for recovering the amulet and finding out what had happened to his aircraft.

From there I returned to Tel Vahl where, reluctantly, I donned the uniform of the Legion before opening a portal to Ebonheart. Captain Carius had informed me that Varus Vatinius has issued an instruction that I am to report to him. The Imperial Dragon was easy enough to find, he was the ill-favoured Imperial that I’d seen at the side of the Duke Dren when I applied for my construction contract ~ the one with a low opinion of Telvanni honour.

“So, the Telvanni returns,” he sneered when I crashed to attention in front of him and snapped off a salute. “Finally decided to get on the winning side, eh?”

When I made no response to his barb, he snorted and said, “you’ve turned out to be a decent soldier Telvanni, and several commanders speak quite highly of you. Do right by me and I’ll make sure that you get what you’re due.

“Now then,” he continued, “I have a job for you. Until a day or two ago, the Lord’s Mail was displayed in the Cult Shrine here. Somehow somebody got in and stole it ~ none of the guards saw anything. Take the key to the Shrine and see what you can learn. Bring me the Lord’s Mail and I’ll give you a promotion.”

My first step was to visit the barracks, housed in the lower levels of Fort Hawkmoth. Most of the guards were unwilling to talk to me but one; a Redguard by the name of Sader was disposed to talk. He told me that Furius Acilius had recently been passed over for promotion and had gone AWOL. I hardly thought it coincidental that Furius Acilius had gone missing two days before the Lord’s Mail vanished. I took a look around Acilius’ quarters but, apart from a scribbled comment about Vatinius that make me smirk, there was nothing of any interest.

Both of the Troopers assigned to the Shrine snapped to attention, clenched fists crashing against their cuirasses as they saluted me. Despite my time with the Legion, that was one thing I still hadn’t gotten used to. The door to the Shrine clicked open and I stepped into a fairly typical Imperial Cult Shrine. Multi-denomination tapestries hung from the walls ~ except for behind the altar, where a rich green and gold tapestry depicted Julianos. There were the usual sacred objects on the altar, a small silver platter for collecting donations and a large silver chalice. The green and gold cloth that covered the cold stone block confirmed that this was a Shrine devoted to Julianos.

I understood why the Imperial Cult adopted this multi-denominational style in Morrowind but I missed the majesty of the individual Shrines that I remembered from my travels around the Illiac Bay. Not that I was particularly moved by the idea of the Divines any more ~ the things I had experienced in my time here had seriously undermined my faith in the religion of my childhood. Shaking off the melancholia that my childhood memories always seemed to induce, I returned to the task at hand.

There were no windows in the Shrine, nowhere that somebody could have clambered in and stolen the artefact. The heavily reinforced door couldn’t have been broken down without attracting the attention of people nearby. Nor had I missed the flare of magic when I’d inserted the key into the lock ~ such locks (requiring both mundane and magical means to open them) were extremely rare and notoriously difficult to pick. And, given that Furius Acilius was, by all accounts, a career soldier it was unlikely that he’d have the skill to pick such a lock.

Something had been tugging at my subconscious while I examined the door. Turning I surveyed the small, austere chamber. A close-fitting door and no windows… So, where was the breeze that was fluttering the edge of the tapestry nearest the door coming from? The wall behind the wall hanging looked solid enough but a quick chant of “Ostendo sum” soon revealed the truth.

The flare of reddish-purple light settled along the outlines of the hidden door, a loud click denoting the fact that the unlocking spell I’d just read from the scroll had done its work. The heavy stone door creaked open to reveal a small stone cell barely big enough for me to get into. The floor of the cell was covered with dried mud; the rough reed mat that covered it caked with the stuff. Since there was no obvious other exit, I placed my hand against the back wall of the cell and pushed. There was a click and a large section of stonework moved backwards to reveal a dark opening.

The muddy floor of the cave left me in no doubt that the thief had used this secret way into the Shrine and that it would take someone who knew Ebonheart extremely well to have known of this hidden access ~ someone like, let’s say, a career soldier who’s been stationed at Ebonheart for years and has, for the sake of argument, recently been passed over for promotion.

The dimly illuminated tunnel meandered through the rock coming, at last, to a meeting place where three other passageways met. With a shrug, I turned to my left and pressed on down the rocky passage. I had gone barely a hundred paces down the tunnel when I was confronted by a snarling legionnaire. He wasted no time on words, the Imperial broadsword already sliding from the scabbard at his waist as he rushed towards me.

The crash of steel on steel echoed through the cave as I blocked the scything blow Acilius aimed at my head, the impact making my arm quiver. I retaliated, pushing his sword up and away with the Blodskal and slashing the heavy blade inwards. He danced back a step, bringing in his broadsword to deflect the blow. Now it was my turn to back-pedal in order to avoid his upward cut.

We eyed each other warily for a moment, each taking measure of our opponent. Acilius was strong but lacked finesse ~ like so many in the Legion he relied on his training and had no… style. With a grunt, he proved my point, slashing in a powerhouse blow that would have done serious damage if I hadn’t blocked it. My return blow scored a mark across his cuirass. Gripping the sword tightly, he aimed a series of vicious overhead blows at me, forcing me backwards.

Sensing, rather than seeing, that he’d changed his grip on the hilt, I swung the Blodskal downward, the greater mass of the Nordic blade knocking the broadsword from Acilius’ hand. I had barely registered that I’d disarmed him when a thunderous punch to the face drove me backwards. I blinked, my vision blurred from the blow, and saw him stoop and pick up his sword again. I gave him no time to prepare.

“Never,” my sword crashed into his upraised blade with a force that made my arm shudder.

“Hit,” I blocked his blow, the blades singing as they crashed into each other.

“A,” his steel blade shattered as I smashed the Blodskal down on it as he raised it to block the blow.

“Lady!” I finished, driving the point of the Nordic blade into the Imperial’s throat and slamming him back against the wall.

Rolling Furius Acilius over, I undid the silver clasps that held the glittering cuirass in place. The armour came off after a few minutes struggle and I held the heavy, padded cuirass up to examine it. It was made of some dark metal and appeared to be overlapping scales. The edges of the armour were decorated with fine gold scrollwork. That was not, however, what kept me there holding the heavy armour. Visions of combat danced in my head, snatches of scenery that I almost recognised, the crash of steel on steel and the screams of the dying mingled with the triumphant cries of the victors.

Shaking myself all over, I looked at the armour and licked my lips. The overwhelming urge to put it on and just… well, take charge had faded. With a shaky sigh, I placed the cuirass on a rock and opened my pack. Handling the scaled Lord’s Mail as little as possible, I dropped it into my pack. A careful exploration of the caves revealed the rest of Furius Acilius’ belongings ~ a sack containing a couple of hundred Septims, a pair of pauldrons made of the same dark, scaled metal, and a glass-bladed sword. My exploration also revealed a water-filled passageway that led to a door. This egress opened out onto a small sandy beach at the foot of the cliffs: above me loomed the bulk of the castle and keep. It must have pleased Acilius to have stolen the Lord’s Mail and, quite literally, hidden it under the noses of those he felt had cheated him.

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Varus Vatinius’ eyes lit up like lanterns when I unpacked the armour, he could barely wait to get his hands on it. Somehow I suspected that the artefact wouldn’t end up in the Shrine or, despite what Vatinius’ mouth was saying, in the strong room beneath the castle. His eyes were telling a very different story.

When he’d stopped (metaphorically) dribbling over the armour, he snapped a new set of orders at me ~ seemingly having forgotten his promise to promote me if I fetched the Lords Mail back. “The Paladin’s Blade has passed into the hands of a powerful sorceress by the name of Dramamu Hloran. You will travel to Sadrith Mora and recover the blade. Shouldn’t be difficult for you to accomplish that, should it Telvanni?”

Stalking away from the Man, I opened a portal to Sadrith Mora and stepped through it. If I wanted information on this Dramamu Hloran, my Mouth would be a good place to start.

“Good job you came to see me bo… Sed Vahl,” he said. “Most of the folk around here wouldn’t want to discuss her. She’s a pretty powerful Mage from what I’ve heard and she’s got some magical sword or other.”

“The Paladin’s Blade,” I said.

“Chrysamere?” he gasped, “the actual, genuine Chrysamere Paladin Sword? Like, erm, wow.” I grinned at his enthusiasm, wondering what he’d make of the large collection of artefacts securely located below Tel Vahl. Now that Eddie had named it, I knew what it was I was tracking down and could understand why Vatinius wanted it. A true hero, wielding Chrysamere, was supposed to be unstoppable in combat ~ or so the old tales went. Personally I figured that anyone or anything could be stopped in battle. You just needed to know where to stick the pointy bit of your sword for the best effect.

Abanabi was darker than any place I’ve ever been in, and not only from the lack of light. There was an oppressive feel to the place that spoke of dark magics, frequently performed. Fast Eddie had repeatedly warned me that Hloran was a powerful sorceress and had a reputation for dabbling in things that, to use his words, were better left undabbled with. So, it was with as much caution as I could muster that I made my way down the dark, unlit tunnel that led into the depths of the cave system.

The flickering glow on the rock ahead told me what was likely to be around the corner and, forewarned, I carefully constructed the intricate shape of the Blizzard spell before advancing any further. The Fire Atronach had barely registered my presence in the tunnel when I spoke the words of the spell, “Dywyll chymylau, yn nadu bwrw eira, angheuol brythwch.” The fires of the Atronach’s form dimmed as the icy wind swirled around it, the hiss of ice-shards flashing into steam clearly audible as two totally disparate elements fought for supremacy. Gritting my teeth, I poured more magicka into the spell, the cyclone of arcane forces around the embattled Atronach screaming and howling. I gasped as, with a suddenness that was startling, the flames of the Atronach were snuffed out and, with a despairing wail, the creature vanished back to the fiery depths of the realm that had spawned it.

It was with a shaky hand that I drew the phial of restorative liquid from my pack and drank deeply of it. Then came that strange ballooning sensation, as if your mind is swelling, as the raw magicka that surrounds the Mundus roared into me. Revitalised, I dropped the vial and edged further into Abanabi. The first off-shoot of the tunnels that I chose led to a deep hollow in the rocks, a ladder leading down into it. This cavern seemed to be some sort of storage area, if the stacked urns and crates were any indication. Backing away before the Ice Atronachs that were roaming around the hollow noticed me, I backtracked and took the other branch of the tunnel.

This led to another large chamber, wherein a Breton had set up her abode. Like all such lone practitioners of magic that lack the drive and discipline of Telvanni mages, the solitude and her studies had combined to erode her social graces. Her response, upon seeing me, was to summon a large and grotesque Bone-Walker and press it to the attack. There is a little know fact about Summoned creatures ~ if you take care of the Summoner, then the Summoning is instantly consigned back to whatever nether region it hailed from. That was why I drew the longbow from the top of my pack and opened fire on the Bretonian mage instead of advancing to meet the Bone-Walker as it descended the stairs.

The steel-tipped arrow smashed into the sorceress, the force of the impact throwing her backwards onto the raised platform even at this distance. I grinned, the sparkling motes of the Bone-Walker’s dissolution telling me everything I needed to know about the fate of the sorceress. Which left me with one problem; namely, that there was no way out of this cavern save the way I had come in. having looted the few meagre possessions of the deceased magic-user, I retraced my steps until I came back to the junction.

I knew that the tunnel to my left led back to the surface and that I’d passed no side tunnels on the way down. That means that the way forward was through the storage area directly ahead. I cursed softly; I hadn’t thought to bring either Clanbringer or the Last Wish, both of which inflicted fire-based damage, which would have been extremely useful at this juncture. Still, fireballs were always a handy option…

Standing atop the rickety ladder that led down into the storage area, I lashed out with a stream of incandescent spheres, the thunderous impacts of their detonation echoing through the rocks halls as the Ice Atronachs withered and dissolved under the barrage. I couldn’t have announced my presence more clearly without hiring a runner to deliver a message. Speed was, now, of the essence. Scrambling down the ladder, I found the tunnel leading downwards directly under it and, all hope of stealth abandoned, rushed down it.

I ran into a storm of spells ~ mostly fireballs and poison clouds ~ from the sorceress. Since I still had my longbow to hand and more than a few arrows, I skidded to a halt near a rocky outcropping and fired. Dissolving the spell she was in the process of casting, Dramamu Hleran dived for cover as the arrow clattered off the wooden railing. I risked a quick look around the grey stone I was hiding behind and damn’ near got my head blown off for my trouble. Loading up an arrow, I took up tension on the bow-string and risked another quick glance, snapping my head back as I spotted the incoming spell.

The fireball had barely dissipated when I stepped out of cover. Seconds later Dramamu stepped from behind her chunk of rock, the glow precursor to a fireball already forming between her cupped hands. Resisting the urge to fire immediately, I watched the fireball swell and grow. When I judged the thing was as powerful as it was going to get, I fired. The steel-tipped arrow flew straight and true, transecting the glowing sphere just as it left the sorceress’ hands. There was a brilliant flare of light as the spell detonated around the arrow and a scream as the now molten steel arrowhead plunged into Dramamu Hleran’s breast.

Chrysamere wasn’t the only treasure Dramamu Hloran had hidden away in Abanabi: I found several phials of exotic poisons, a purple Ioun stone, a green Ioun stone, several of the large golden Soul-Stones, and a couple of apprentice scrolls.

Having taken the precaution of placing a Mark in the Grand Council Chamber, I cast recall and returned to Ebonheart. Needless to say, Varus Vatinius was delighted to get the Paladin’s Blade. He claimed it was time the artefact was returned to the Legion but, from the way he spoke, I suspected that he considered the blade as much his as he considered it the Legion’s. Possibly more so. True to his word, he promoted me to the rank of Knight of the Garland, putting me on a par with the commanders of the various Forts around Morrowind Province.

“So,” I said, looking at the chitty that would get me the coveted silver cuirass, “how do I go about getting promoted to the next rank?”

“There can be only one, Telvanni,” Vatinius said, his voice turning cold and deadly. “And, since you think you’re so much better than me, I hereby challenge you to a duel. Your choice of weapons.”

“Very well,” I said with equal coldness. “On the morrow, at the Arena in Vivec City. Swords are the weapons of choice, magic ~ if a dullard like you can cast a simple spell ~ is also allowed.”

“Why wait until the morrow, Dark Elf?”

I gave him a totally humourless grin, “so that you can make peace with whichever gods would listen to a scum-sucking low-life like you.”