Sudhendra Vahl, the first chapter Options

[minque]

This is the first chapter of the amazing story by OverrideB1, which has been posted in the ES-forums

So you want to know a little more about me, where I come from, how I got to be where I am? That seems a reasonable request and we should have plenty of time for me to tell my tale.
I go by the name of Sudhendra Vahl. That’s not my real name of course, but you’ll soon understand why. I’ll start at the beginning ~ I was raised in a small village about fifty miles west of Rihad, and I was born in the year 401 of the Third Era. What’s that?
Well, that is uncommonly kind of you to say so, although your flattery will gain you nothing. I come from a long-lived species and certain events (which I will relate) have conspired to provide me with a much longer life than is normal ~ even for one of my kind. Now, let me tell you my tale…

The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl :Prologue
I never knew my parents: my mother died giving birth to me and my father, from what I can discover, was an itinerant adventurer passing through on his way to somewhere adventurous from somewhere less adventurous. My mother, Gods rest her soul, caught his eye and there was a brief dalliance. Nine months later, along I came ~ a very short time after that, my mother departed this vale of tears. I have little, or no, recollection of what happened after that ~ although I have expended considerable resources over the years finding out.

Shortly after my mother’s death, I was taken in by the Stendarr temple and, from there, sent to foster parents to be raised. My foster-parents were Stendarrites, although the milk of his mercy ran thinly in their veins. I was just a source of income from the Temple for them and, when that ran out shortly after my tenth birthday, I became cheap labour for them around the farm. Well, I say cheap ~ unpaid would be a much better description. True, I had food and a bed: the food left over after they’d finished eating and a pile of straw atop the storage shed. It was a brief and unhappy childhood; not helped by the fact I was the only Dark Elf in the village.

I grew up being handy with my fists and feet and wasn’t above using my teeth if push came to shove. And when half-a-dozen jeering children, all of whom are better fed and stronger than you, surround you; shove comes surprisingly quickly. I quickly garnered a reputation as a surly and aggressive child among the villagers. Not that I had much of a problem with that: my foster-parents did, however and I was regularly beaten for “starting another fight”. Any attempt to explain that I’d been set upon by six or seven older, stronger children was conveniently ignored.

However, just so you don’t think that it was completely bad, I did have a wonderful forest near the house and, when my foster-parents were away at temple, I could wander through them to my hearts content. It was about this time that I developed quite the interest in the properties of various flora. I soon found a root, common in the woods, the juice of which alleviated the sting of my frequent bruises. I never made much of the interest other than secretly trading useful bits of root and flower to passing traders in exchange for coin or, more frequently, a tattered old book. I took great care not to be seen with the books as I struggled to learn my letters ~ I knew that they’d end up on the fire and I’d end up being punished again if I was caught.

It was probably around my twelfth year that my Talent appeared. I began to notice strange auras around certain things and the feeling that I almost knew what they were for. As the days passed, I began to notice more of these quicksilver flashes and occasionally, when a Noble or Knight rode through the village, a strange tugging sensation if they passed close to me. Obviously not something I could discuss with my foster-parents, I chose to discuss it with a wandering peddler I’d dealt with before. In exchange for some plants and one of my miserly horded golden Drakes, he explained that I was born under the sign of the Apprentice and that what I was seeing was a manifestation of that astrological sign’s influence on my life.

Over the next three years, my friend the peddler would come visit. In return for my identifying magical items, he taught me a couple of useful cantrips. A fire-touch spell, a spell that allowed me to walk on water, and (my personal favourite) a spirit I could summon that would act as a guardian. In secret, I began marking the fifteenth of Sun’s Height as my birthday.

I said that it was a short and bitter childhood, and the truth of that became apparent shortly after my fifteenth “birthday”. My foster-mother was away visiting her mother ~ a woman I’d never met, but who was reputed to be insanely rich and insanely eccentric. One night, deep in his cups, my foster-father came up into the loft of the storage shed and attempted to… well, I probably don’t need to draw you a diagram, do I? Needless to say, he got a fist in the face that broke his nose and a shovel across that back of the head that turned out his lights for a while. Gathering my few tattered clothes and the meagre stash of Drakes I’d accumulated, I took a sack-full of provender from the larder, the best horse from the yard and, bidding a farewell to my hidden books, I set off in the general direction of away.

I figured that everyone would think I’d headed towards Rihad so that was the last direction I wanted. North lay Taneth and, beyond that, the wilds of Hammerfell. East lay the border with Cyrodiil, as it would if I headed south. Cyrodiil it was then and, angling roughly southeast, I rode off into the night. A few days later, hungry and dusty, I crossed into Sutch. There it became obvious that the supply of coin I had wouldn’t last too long and so, with some reluctance, I sold my steed and blended into the crowds.
Over the course of the next ten years I drifted from town to town, never staying in one spot for long, making a passable living identifying useful plants or identifying ensorcelled items. Naturally, I picked up a few useful skills along the way: my years of chopping wood proved to be handy as I found I could wield a pretty mean axe and I taught myself the rudiments of fighting with a long-blade. I won’t say I led a blameless existence, but I was no more of a thief, cutpurse, or mugger than anyone else of my station. Truth be told, I tried to avoid stealing things except when needs must: often I was the only Dark Elf in the town and knew that suspicion would fall on me pretty quickly.

So I drifted along, wandering from town to town with nary a care in the world. However, it was in one town that I happened to overhear a couple of Legion types asking about a Dark Elf named “Mishkin” who was wanted for assault and theft in Hammerfell. Heart pounding, I ran back to my hideout, collected my sparse belongings and got out of town pretty damn’ sharply, I can tell you. In a panic, I made the cardinal mistake – isolating myself with no options. I hit Anvil running, and booked myself passage on the first ship to very far away from here. It virtually emptied my purse, but I got passage on a vessel sailing to a port near Rimmen. I knew nothing about the place except that it was in Elsweyr and it was very far away from Hammerfell. Sounded perfect.

The journey took a couple of months, and I was more than happy to step off the boat in the bustling port and blend once more into the crowds. Of course, I’d forgotten how quickly bad news could spread, how persistent the Empire is in punishing wrongdoers, and the spitefulness of my foster-parents. I’d travelled under the name of “Vahl” and used the first name “Sudhendra” if I had to ~ it was a name I’d read in a book at sometime and it struck me as being a pretty name, certainly better than Mishkin. There I was, in a foreign place, with no money and a false identity. That’s when I made cardinal mistake number two.

My only excuse is that I was exhausted. I’d been running around trying to gather up some much needed coin and had pushed myself over the limit. I purchased a little bread and meat and sat in a pretty little park to eat my meal. Next thing I know, I’m being shaken awake by a burly guard who was being watched with some amusement by his three equally burly compatriots.

“You can’t sleep here,” he said. “What’s your name?”

I told you I was tired, I automatically answered “Mishkin Dark-Skin”.

“Says here you’re Sudhendra Vahl and, wait, did you say Mishkin Dark-Skin?”

The four of them fell on me like a landslide, hitting me with their short wooden clubs before dragging me, battered and bruised, to the local lockup. Where I spend a very uncomfortable night before being hauled before the local Imperial magistrate. The charges were ridiculous, to say the least: “Assault on a village Elder”, “Theft of three hundred Drakes”, “Theft of a prize stallion”, “Assuming a false Identity”, “Vagrancy”. Oh, and my personal favourite, “Resisting arrest”.

I might just have talked my way out of the first five charges but that resisting arrest one? That one was the clinching offence: the whole trial took under thirty minutes, I wasn’t given a single chance to refute the charges or make a defence and found myself sentenced to ten years in the Imperial prison at Alabaster.

I’d been in prison for a year when things took a turn for the very strange. During my sentence, I’d been a good girl; following orders, staying out of trouble, that sort of thing. Unlikely though it was, there was a very remote chance I might get a reprieve if I showed that I was a model citizen. So, I bowed and scraped, cleaned out the latrines, washed, cooked, and did all the usual stuff they make you do in jail. In addition, I kept in shape as best as I could. Then, one night, the door to my cell slammed open and I was grabbed and dragged out into the courtyard. A cloaked and hooded figure looked at me from the dark recess of his hood and muttered something to the commandant. Next thing I knew I was being hustled into a coach and driven out of the prison. We stopped but once, and I was made to stand there while my original abductors drove off in the coach and another, plainer coach was brought in. The hooded figure turned to me and said something that sounded like “Somnus” and a sudden blackness descended.

[minque]

Chapter One: A Stranger in a strange place
A soft voice was whispering words I couldn’t quite understand in my ear as I stood in a place flooded with a brilliant golden light. They seemed to hold a promise but, every time I tried to understand them, a strange sloshing noise filled my head. Try as hard as I might, I couldn’t focus on the whisperer ~ the bright golden light blotted out everything. Suddenly, the world started to shake…

“Wake up,” a masculine voice said as the dream shattered and fell away in glittering motes of light. “Wake up, you were dreaming. Wake up, it looks like we’ve arrived: I overheard a guard say we’re docking in Morrowind.”

“Not even last night’s storm could wake you,” the Dark Elf I shared this cramped space with said. Bleary-eyed I blinked at him, trying to figure out what in Stendarr’s name was going on. “My name is Jiub,” my companion said, helping me to my feet, “who are you?”

“Mishkin, “ I responded as I swayed on my feet. The Drake suddenly dropped and I realised that not all of the swaying could be accounted for by my debilitated condition. What was it the one-eyed Dark Elf had said? “Docking in Morrowind”? Yes, that’s what he’d said, which meant we were aboard a ship.

“What do you mean, we’re…” I started to ask.

“Shhh,” he interrupted, “here comes a guard”.

“You, prisoner 1356778,” the guard said as he pointed a heavily mailed fist at me. “Follow me up on deck: keep quite, keep in step, and no funny business.” Shrugging slightly at Jiub, I stood up and shuffled after the Imperial, my movements hampered by the heavy manacles around both my wrists and ankles. As the first guard stood watch, two more guards snapped to attention. One bolted the cell door while the other bent behind me and unfastened the chains around my ankles. With a jerk of his head, the first guard indicated I should follow him. Knowing that any other course was both futile and painful, I complied.

I followed the guard past the other (empty) holding cells onto the upper deck. Marching me to a set of stairs, he snapped, “Get up on deck prisoner. They’ll send an escort for you.”

Glad to be obliging, I scrambled up the steps and onto the deck. There, an elderly looking Redguard gestured towards the plank leading towards a jetty ~ at the bottom of which another Imperial Guard was waiting. “Make your way down to the docks prisoner,” he said, not unkindly. "You’ll be taken to processing and released.”

The guard at the bottom of the plank looked up as I approached. “Are you Prisoner Number 1356778?” he asked. When I indicated that I was, indeed, Prisoner Number 1356778, he asked me if I was a Dunmer. I must have looked really confused, because he explained that Dark Elves weren’t called Dark Elves in Morrowind, they were called Dunmer. Still queasy, I blinked at him and nodded: either he was blind, or he was stupid, and I wasn’t in any fit state to deal with either condition.

“I’m sure you’ll fit right in,” he said enigmatically, before ordering me to follow him down to the quayside where I was to see Socucius Ergalla in the Customs and Excise Offices for “processing”.

I stepped into the offices of the Imperial Bureau of Excise and Census, there to be greeted by an elderly Imperial in an ill-fitting robe. “I’m Socucius Ergalla,” he said. “I have a few questions to ask you, then you can sign your papers and leave. Now, you are Sudhendra Vahl, a Dunmer from Hammerfell. Charged with various offences and sentenced to ten years in Alabaster Prison. Said sentence commuted to exile here on the island of Vvardenfell in the Imperial Province of Morrowind. Hmmm, the papers say that you go by the name of Mishkin Dark-Skin, I need to know your real name so that you can be officially entered into the records.”

“Sudhendra Vahl,” I blurted. I was anxious to leave any trace of my old life behind. Here was a chance to start anew, and I was going to seize it with both hands and never, ever let go.

“Sudhendra Vahl,” he said, scribbling my name onto an official looking scroll. “What were the names of your parents?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, bluntly adding, “I never knew them”.

“Uh-huh. And what star sign were you born under?”

“That of the Apprentice,” I said.

He looked up sharply at that; muttering something that sounded like “interesting” before handing me two scrolls and saying, “check that all the details on here are correct, and make your mark at the bottom. I’ll keep one, you take the other to the captain of the guard ~ Sellus Gravius. He’ll give you your release money and any final instructions.”

Release money sounded interesting, at least I wouldn’t be starting my new life here penniless. Signing my papers with a flourish, I handed one copy back to Socucius Ergalla. The room’s other occupant, a stiffly formal Imperial Guard, unlocked the heavy wooden door and ushered me through into the next room. Politely, I shut the door behind me. Directly in front of me lay a short corridor that terminated in a trio of steps down to another door while, off to my right, was a small chamber. Descending the stairs, I found that the door was unlocked, so I opened it. Inside was a small chamber, a sort of storage area I guess. A rough and stained pallet lay on the floor in an alcove ~ alongside it were five Hessian sacks and a couple of wooden barrels. There were bits of plant and strange aromatic herbs inside the sacks: thinking that I might manage to get a few Drakes for them, I took them all. The barrels contained a few items ~ mostly household stuff like jars and bottles. Two kegs, on stands, at the back of the room proved to be disappointingly empty. There was also a key on the bench, but it didn’t fit into the lock on the trapdoor that led into a cellar (I guess).

Back up into the main chamber, where I examined the items on the table. A loaf of fresh bread, some silverware, a bottle of some local liquor, a candelabrum, a strange flaky meat I didn’t recognise, a sheet of paper, a small note, a lock-pick, and a low quality iron dagger. I took the lot ~ feeling very happy now that I had some form of defence. (A girl should never walk around undefended). A nearby bench provided another sheet of paper and three loaves of fresh bread, all of which I “liberated” before turning my attention to the bookcase, munching on a hunk of bread as I did so.

There were a number of empty bottles, two earthenware jugs of some hooch, a number of plates and goblets, a strange and leathery egg, a copy of ‘The Firmament’, and a small locked wooden chest. After filching everything that I could, I turned my attention to the small chest. It took me a while to tease open the lock ~ despite my light-fingered approach to the contents of the Census offices, I’m not really a thief.

Consequently, it was hard work for me to open the chest, despite the cheap and battered lock. After several minutes of monotonous cursing on my part over the recalcitrant lock, it finally snapped open ~ just as the pick snapped in two. I managed to get the half of the lock-pick out of the cylinder before opening the chest. Inside was a stack of thirty-seven coins, which I cheerfully added to my purse. My final act was to check the two barrels by the door ~ they yielded up another couple of those leathery eggs, some strands of a dark dried jerky, and some more of that flaky yellow meat.

I opened the door and stepped into a small, enclosed courtyard. I took a deep breath, and then coughed as I caught the swampy stench of decaying vegetation and a flinty, acrid smell I didn’t recognise. ”Dibella’s heliopauses,” I cursed, “that’s a real stink”. I only hoped that I could get used to it (and that the whole island didn’t smell quite as bad). Nevertheless, I gathered myself together and walked towards the entrance to another building. Beside the door was another barrel, which, naturally, I investigated. Inside was an ornate cube made of a metal I didn’t recognise, a ring (which gave off an arcane glow), and another bottle. Shrugging, I took all of the items, despite the fact I was unable to identify the enchantment on the engraved ring for some reason. It was about then that I realised I had a problem.

So, this prisoner gets off the boat wearing only a pair of stained breeches, a pair of shoes so cheap they’re practically made of waxed paper, a prison collar, and a tattered shirt. After signing her papers, said prisoner walks into the office of the Captain of the Guard laden down with silverware, food, books, and what-have-you. End result? Back off to prison with you Sudhendra Vahl ~ and this time no pardon or exile, stay there until you rot. Not exactly the most auspicious start to a new life my girl, no, not at all.

Julianos teaches that there are no problems that cannot be overcome if you stop and think about them or, at least, so I had read. Making a quick detour back into the storage room, I added a Hessian sack to my haul. Then I did something smarter; I added my haul to the Hessian sack and the Hessian sack to the rain barrel. Now unencumbered by anything that might get me thrown back into jail, I marched into Sellus Gravius’ office like a good little prisoner.

Sellus Gravius was a gruff, self-important man clad in shiny Templar armour. He obviously had very little time for me, snapping, “give me your papers” at me the instant I entered the room. He took a long time examining them before gruffly conceding, “These all seem to be in order. Come here.”

Rather reluctantly, I went and stood in front of him, obligingly turning my back to him when he indicated that I should. I felt a hand brush my hair aside, and then there was a sharp “click”. The heavy metal collar slipped from around my neck and I caught it instinctively. Then I dropped it like I’d just caught hold of a dead rat. Stepping wide around the nullity-collar, I gave it a very disdainful look. Now I knew why I’d been feeling so unwell since I’d woken up.· I could feel the ebb and flow of arcane forces once more, and felt myself slowly recharging my magicka levels. “Here is your release fee,” he continued, handing me a heavy leather pouch, “and here is a packet of documents that you have to deliver to Caius Cosades in Balmora.”

“Your pardon sir,” I said with feigned humility, “but where is Balmora, and how will I find this Caius Cosades?”

He made an annoyed sound as he turned back towards me. “Take a ‘strider to Balmora, or walk ~ it’s signposted well enough. As for finding him, I have no idea. I do know he frequents the South Wall Cornerclub. Try asking there.” With that, he gave me a dismissive glance and turned back to the paperwork on his desk. With a shrug, and a rude gesture at his back, I went back into the courtyard and retrieved my sack. Looking for all the world as though I was doing nothing out of the ordinary, I marched back through the office of Sellus Gravius and out into a new world.

A broad, open area faced me, bordered on the sides with squat stone houses in a common Imperial style: namely rough-hewn stone blocks with a thatched roof. One of the buildings was taller than the rest, and had a wooden walkway around the side that could be reached by a flight of wooden steps. A stiff breeze blew in from behind me, dispelling the fetid odour with the tangy scent of the ocean. I turned to face it, realising as I did that the prison ship I’d arrived on had already departed. I waited a while, but there was no sign of Jiub. Finally, I called over to the guard who’d escorted me from the ship, “Excuse me, but how long ago was it that you escorted the other prisoner into the office?”

“What other prisoner?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “You were the only prisoner on the manifest to be disembarking here. The ‘Arrow’ is on its way to Falkreath and the Imperial prison there”. Falkreath is a hellhole, well known throughout the Empire as one of the harshest of Imperial prisons. I was disappointed, I had hoped to be able to talk to the Dark Elf and get some information. Information such as how I’d got aboard, where we’d sailed from ~ stuff like that. Anything, really, to get some hint as to why my prison sentence had been commuted to exile in this… dump. With a sigh, I turned from the sea and promptly bumped into someone.

“Welcome to Seyda Neen,” the little Bosmeri said, overriding my apologies. “My name’s Fargoth, and you must be the new exile. I hope the guards weren’t too rough on you, that Sellus Gravius can be a nasty piece of work…”

“Sudhendra Vahl,” I offered, extending a hand in greeting, hoping to cut the little Mer off before he got too annoying. He shook my hand, but carried on yattering away.

“…Sure he’s the one responsible for all my problems. It seems that every day is ‘annoy Fargoth day’ for the guards. They watch my every move, roust me whenever they get the chance. Why, I’m sure it was them that stole my ring.”

“Ring?” I queried, hoping to stop the flow of chatter.

“Yes,” Fargoth replied, “a ring. Beautiful it was, gold and set with a small green stone. The gold was engraved with intricate designs. It’s enchanted you know, belonged to my mother who, quite naturally, had a great many such rings. It’s very precious to me, that ring…”

There are some people who will wonder why I did what I did next. Certainly it is common in every Province that “what you find, you keep”. Digging into my pocket, I fetched out the engraved ring and showed it to the Bosmeri. “Would this be it?” I asked.

“Why yes,” the annoying little Bosmer said, almost snatching it from my hand. “You know, you’ve done me a great favour, and I’m sure that you and I are going to be very close friends. I’ll speak to Arrille and make sure he gives you a discount. He and I are very good friends you know. Why, only the other day, he was saying ‘Fargoth, you’re such a good friend to me’. And he always…”

And there you have the reason I acted so uncharacteristically. It’s always been a policy of mine to get an ‘in’ with somebody in every new town I visit. They’re the people who know where the best deals can be found, who to avoid, what the guard patrol patterns are like: in short, the sort of stuff that that you need to know. The fact that this squeaky-voiced little Wood Elf knew a decent trader was a bonus.

“Sorry,” I said, fighting down an urge to smack the Wood Elf across the face. “I must get on.” With that, I turned my back on him and walked away, leaving him standing there happily reminiscing to the empty space I’d been occupying. By the Divines, Bosmeri are such annoying little gits.

“I see you’ve had a run in with Fargoth,” a male voice said. I turned, and found myself face to face with a dark-haired Man. He could have been Bretonian or Cyrodiil I was uncertain which. When he introduced himself as Vodunius Nuccius, I knew him for an Imperial. “I know this must be hard on you, exiled far from home, but it’s not too bad here ~ well, it’s actually pretty bad, appalling actually ~ but we pretend it isn’t to keep ourselves from running, screaming, for the first ship away from here.” I laughed, then extended a hand and introduced myself.

“Pleasure to meet you Sudhendra Vahl,” he said. “Vahl, that’s a very old name. I guess it’s traditional Dunmeri although it’s not one I’ve heard before. What?” he added with a smile, “you’re surprised I said ‘Dunmeri’ instead of ‘Dark Elf’?”

“I am,” I admitted.

“Most folks around here tend to use Dunmeri to describe you people. It’s only the ignorant,” here he scowled at a passing guard, “or the deliberately rude who don’t. Listen, I must be going but, if there’s any help I can give you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Well, there are a couple of things,” I admitted. “The guard captain mentioned something called a ‘strider’ that could get me to Balmora. And Fargoth mentioned someone named Arrille.”

“Arrille runs the local Tradehouse, in fact, it’s the only Tradehouse in Seyda Neen,” he said, swivelling to point at the two-storey building I’d noticed earlier. “He’s pretty much a general trader. There’s a decent bar upstairs, run by a Yokudan named Elone, but no beds I’m sorry to say.

“’Strider is short for Silt-Strider; a unique form of indigenous transport.” Taking my arm, he swivelled me around and pointed between two buildings. There I could see a massive creature standing up against some sort of ramp. It looked, for all the world, like a massive flea. “It’s an insect that the locals use to transport people from one place to another. Another good thing is that it’s pretty cheap too. Listen, tell them that Vodunius Nuccius sent you; they’ll give you a little discount.
“Now, I’m sorry, but I really must be going.”

Thanking him profusely, I made my way towards Arielle’s Tradehouse, climbing the short flight of steps and making my way around to the door, which, happily, looked seawards. Inside, an Altmeri introduced himself as Arrille, and asked if I had come to trade. I showed him the items I’d picked up in the Imperial Census buildings. He quickly sorted through them and, sliding the strange cubic object back across the desk to me, offered me five hundred and six Septims. “Why are you excluding this?” I asked, pointing at the device.

“Simple muthsera,” he replied. “That is a Dwemer Time-Keeping Cube. I don’t know where you got it, but trading in anything Dwemeric is against Imperial law. Besides,” he added with a lopsided grin, “I couldn’t afford it.”

“I’ve heard of the Dwemer,” I replied, “but I know very little about them. Nor do I have any idea what this is doing here.”

“Well, I can help you very little with the first problem,” he said. “I understand that the Mages Guild has several experts in the field of Dwemeric history: they might be able to assist you.
“As to how it came to be here,” he continued, “that’s simple. Vvardenfell is, or rather was, the home of the Dwemer. Now, is there anything else I can do for you? Weapons, armour, scrolls, potions, or spells; I have a pretty good stock here.”

I browsed through his stock, eventually choosing a pretty decent sabre, some light armour of local manufacture,· and a fireball spell. I slipped on the greaves and cuirass over the top of my clothing, and strapped the sabre to my belt. Thus armed and armoured, I asked Arielle if he knew of any ventures that might earn a poor exile some money. “There’s not an awful lot of anything in Seyda Neen, to be truthful,“ he said. “It’s just a small fishing village that the Imperials use to dock ships that aren’t heading around to Ebonheart. Although, I have heard that Hrisskar has a few monetary problems and is looking for some cash. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Dark Elf,” a big voice boomed as I reached the top of the stairs. “I, Hrisskar Flat-Foot do greet you. Come, a drink I’ll be buying our latest arrival to this dark isle Elone.” The Nord, equally as big as his booming voice, enveloped me in a hug and guided me over to the bar where, with a sly grin on her face, a Redguard female that I assumed was Elone, poured out a small quantity of liquor into one glass before pouring a dark, frothing ale into a mug. My new companion slammed a couple of coins on the counter and then, barely giving me time to collect my drink, guided me over to a nearby table.

As I tentatively sipped the dark purple liquor, Hrisskar Flat-Foot lowered his voice to what he considered a conspiratorial whisper and asked, “Would it be some money you’re looking to earn lassie?” when I indicated that I wouldn’t be adverse to such a venture; he drew his chair closer and continued. “There be a Wood Elf name of Fargoth who owes two hundred Septims to Hrisskar. Yon rascal claims he has nae money, but I know that he tells an untruth there. If ye have a mind to it, I can tell you where and how you can recover the money. I take my two hundred, and ye will be having the rest.”

I asked him to elaborate, and he outlined the plan. “Now, ‘tis known that yon Fargoth does go creeping around late at night, although nobody knows for why. I figure that it’s his money he visits. I be none too stealthy, and am much too well known to yon beastie tae be skulking around trying to find the gold he has stashed. So, what I propose tae ye is, get yourself up atop the lighthouse sometime after the sun, He has gone down. Frae there, ye’ll have the perfect view of all a’ Seyda Neen. Watch where he goes an’ what he does. Speak ye not to him, afore or after, lest he suspect. And, in the Name of Emperor Zero, dinnae let the wee fool catch a sight of ye.”

Common thievery was it? I doubted that Fargoth owed this Nord a single Drake and that Hrisskar was as flat-footed as his last name implied. This was the sort of thing Mishkin Dark-Skin would have done, I had to ask myself, was it the sort of thing that Sudhendra Vahl would get involved with? I would have to think long and hard on that before I made the decision.

I wandered over to the counter, where the Yokudan woman was grinning. “Got you doing a task for him has he?” she asked, not unkindly. “I’m Elone, by the way. You must be the person who came off the Arrow earlier. You do look a little lost.”

“Very lost,” I conceded as I returned her greeting in the traditional Redguard manner. “I have paperwork to take to somebody I’ve never heard of, in a town I have no clue where it is or how far away it is.”

“We’re here, in Seyda Neen,” she said, dropping a well-drawn map on the counter. “This whole area up along this western coast is known as ‘The Bitter Coast’. Now, where is it you’ve got to get too?”

“Balmora,” I said looking at the insignificant dot that represented Seyda Neen. If I was reading the scale correctly, the island was about fifteen miles from north to south, and about ten miles across.

“Balmora is right here,” she said, pointing to an icon representing a blue building. “That’s on the banks of the River Odai, east of here in the area known as West Gash. It’s a good day’s walk away, through some pleasant countryside although you will have to pass through the Mamaea Gap and that’s a little rough. Alternately, you could take a ‘strider from here around to Balmora. That takes about eight hours and should cost about twenty Septims.”

“Thank you,” I said, pushing the map back towards her.

“No, you keep that,” she said. “You’ll probably need that and this,” she added dropping a small golden stone on top of the parchment map. “Do you recognise it?”

“A locator stone,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t afford that.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, folding the map and handing it and the locator stone to me. “Consider it a welcome to Vvardenfell present.” I thanked her profusely for her generosity, which she waved away. “Let me tell you a little secret,” she said, “talk to everyone. Talk is free, and you can pick up some very useful information that way.”

Bearing that in mind, I thanked Elone and circulated through the bar for a while ~ speaking to people about things they’d heard. I was told that the Empire had granted a mining concession in a place called Solstheim. When I asked about Solstheim, I was told it is a Nord controlled island a way to the north between Vvardenfell and Skyrim. The general consensus was that Solstheim is a frozen hellhole and nobody in their right mind would want to go there, despite the rumoured deposits of Ebony. Another snipped I discovered is that, for the foolhardy, there is a boat service running from a place called Khuul to Fort Frostmoth on Solstheim.

Much more interesting was the chat I had with an Imperial Mage named Albecius Colollius. He was deep in his cups and it was hard to understand his slurred speech but, from what I could gather, he was looking for a powerful artefact known as The Mentor’s Ring. According to him, some “fool” had lost it in a tomb somewhere along the Bitter Coast.

Another interesting snippet I heard was that the local tax collector had gone missing. From the generally smug tones, I guessed that the man wasn’t overly popular amongst the local populace ~ something about ostentatiously displaying wealth while taking their money.

Having exhausted the topics of conversation, I made my way downstairs and left Arielle’s Tradehouse for a breath of fresher air. Since the day was relatively pleasant, I decided to take a walk out of the village and look at the local countryside. Crossing the two bridges, I struck out to the west along a fairly well defined path. I’d gone but a short distance before I came upon a very familiar sight. A rounded building with a domed roof stood alongside the pathway, purple and gold banners displaying the device of Mara fluttering from the walls. In front of the door stood the traditional braziers. Although I am a devotee of Stendarr, I was pleased to see a familiar institution here on Vvardenfell. It made it likely that there would be a Stendarrian Temple somewhere should I feel the need to make an offering.

The path wound onwards, curving around a noisome pool before descending into a steep fold. As I walked down the path, I fancied I could hear a noise.

The noise, a yodelling wailing sound, wasn’t part of my imagination: it was definitely getting louder. Drawing my sabre, I dropped into a combat stance as I scanned the area for what I presumed was an attacker. I could see nothing. Suddenly, there was a terrific crash in the treetop near me, accompanied by what ~ for all the Mundus ~ sounded like “ooofff”. A book spun to the ground in front of me, followed a second later by the figure of a Man. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, and lay very still. Cautiously, I approached and, as I got nearer, I came to the realisation that he was very, very dead indeed.

I knelt by the figure, which, for all the appalling force of the impact, was remarkably undamaged. The Man was wearing a pair of good quality shoes and a splendid blue robe. A small money pouch hung from one side of the belt while, from the other, hung a long-bladed sword that glistered with arcane force. His backpack, ruined beyond any hope of redemption, contained three tightly bound scrolls and had, at one time, obviously contained the book. The only thing that marred this picture of sartorial elegance was the fact that the Man was wearing one of those asinine Colovian fur hats: you know the ones, a cone of fabric with a furred trim around the bottom? This one was a remarkably ridiculous yellow.

Since the dead Man, whose name I discovered was Tarhiel, wouldn’t be needing any of these things, I took the money, the sword, the robe, the scrolls and his journal ~ which I read as I continued walking. It seems that Tarhiel was a research-mage of sorts with a phobia about levitation spells and a miserly opinion of the Guild-Guides. To save money (and avoid having to levitate) he had concocted a cantrip for his own use ~ one which would fortify his ability to jump beyond all sane levels. The last entry in the journal virtually crowed about how brilliant he was and how, from atop the tallest tower in Ebonheart, he was going to prove that brilliance the following day before an adoring audience. I could, almost immediately, see the single flaw with his spell and it must have come as a very unpleasant surprise to him when he realised his error far too late.

Creating a spell that will lift you hundreds, if not thousands, of feet off the ground with a single bound is all very well and good. What he had neglected to consider was: what happens hundreds of feet above the ground when the spell wears off? Unless you have a cantrip of slow falling, or a levitation spell, or are some form of super Man, gravity will take a very sudden interest in you. I regarded the three scrolls with a jaundiced eye, resolving to sell them at the very first opportunity. Should I ever get back to civilisation, that is.

So engrossed had I been in the journal, I’d sort of lost the track I’d been following. Steep black cliffs loomed on one side of me while, on the other side; the ground fell sharply away towards another of those foetid looking pools. In front of me, the ground rose quite sharply ~ at least giving me the hope that I would be able to spy out the lay of the land and figure out how to get back to Seyda Neen. What awaited me at the top was a rather more pleasant surprise.

The ground sloped quite sharply down towards a secluded cove, upon the shore of which the sea lapped gently. Trees and large rocks screened off much of the little bay from sight but I was sure that there was some sort of structure down there. As I descended, the shape resolved itself into a sort of tunnel set into the side of the hill. Made of an odd, sandy-coloured stone, it had a rounded, oval shape, cut off at the bottom by a slab of grey-coloured stone. As I moved around, I could finally see that there was a wooden door set at the back of the awning, old and slightly mossy. Next to the door was a column of inscribed characters that seemed to identify the place.

Samarys Card’ruhn was engraved inside the recessed cartouche. I had to dig deep to translate the local script into something I recognised. However, knowing that the engraving said “Samarys Card’ruhn” didn’t help in the slightest since I had no idea what either Samarys or Card’ruhn actually meant. Only one way to find out I reasoned.
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