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]

“These agents, Alynu Aralen, Sathasa Nerothren, Fothyna Herothran, and Alveleg, are probably hiding in the hills to the north of the mine. Be wary Associate,” Eydis warned, “they’re sure to have posted a lookout.”

I wondered what, or who, a ‘Telvanni’ is as I walked slowly around to the Guild of Mages. Once inside, I made my way down to the inevitable Guild-Guide who, for twelve Drakes, transported me to a town called Caldera, or as close to the mines as I could get.

Let me state, for the record, that I was immediately and completely shaken out of my depression by the realisation of what I’d just done. I hate the teleportation service rather more than anything else in the Grey Maybe. That strange buzzing sensation as your body is ripped apart into tiny and unknowable particles, sent streaming through the Void to be reassembled in some other place. Where you inevitably arrive with a deep and utter sense of confusion and the feeling that your stomach is travelling overland to catch up with you. I rarely use the service and have to fight down an overwhelming urge to check that I have the right number of everything, attached in all the proper places, every time that I do.

Scampering off the teleportation disk, I took several deep breaths to calm myself before looking around. The Guild-Guide looked at me with some amusement but said nothing: two elderly Dunmer stood at the other end of the room watching me ~ I guess to see if I’d suddenly implode, or something would drop off, or something. When nothing overly amusing happened, one of them gestured for me to join him.

“My name is Folms Mirel,” he said, pleasantly enough. “I’m looking for someone to assist me in a little research. Would you be interested outlander?”

In response to my query as to what would be involved, he gave me a genuinely happy smile and said, “many years ago, when this land was known as Resdayn, our ancestors built a series of forts. Using a technique that we’re only just rediscovering, they created a number of chambers ~ known as Propylon Chambers ~ which could be used to travel from one fort to another.

“As you can imagine, such a technique would be extremely useful to understand. I’ve been studying the chambers for many years and believe I can create a Master Index: a key, if you will, that will allow travel between any of these Propylon Chambers. However, to do so, I need the individual Propylon Indexes. I am willing to pay five hundred Septims for each and every Index you can bring me.”

“And where will I find these indexes?” I asked.

“Ah, that I can also help you with,” Folms Mirel said happily. “The first one is right here in Caldera. It is the Hlormaren Index and is property of Irgola the Pawnbroker to be exact. Obtain it from him and bring it to me. I will pay you the agreed sum. And, while you’re doing that, I’ll research the location of the remaining Indexes. Agreed?”

It seemed a simple enough task, and we entered into an agreement. However, it would have to wait for a while ~ the day wasn’t getting any younger and I had a nest of spies to locate. Folms Mirel was kind enough to provide me with accurate directions to the mine and, with a fairly light step; I headed out of the guild.

Caldera was a typical Imperial town, like Seyda Neen of Pelagiad, only more so. Officious looking guards stamped about in their armoured finery while, around them, the ordinary citizens trod a wide berth as they undertook their daily tasks. I was at the northern end of an elongated square. The eastern side of the square was lined with a mixture of shops and housing. On the western side, dominating the town from its vantage point on the hill was a massive stone structure. Too grand to be a simple garrison or fort, it reminded me of the large Imperial residences so beloved of Nobles in Cyrodiil Province.

I shrugged. Standing gawping like a tourist wasn’t getting the job done so, whistling a jaunty tune, I headed off into the wilderness.

My first indication that I was getting close was the arrow that zipped past my head. With a muffled curse, I dived behind a nearby rock and peered out. The next arrows sparked as it bounced skywards ~ it had impacted against my hideout and missed my head by a couple of inches. I did get a chance, however, to see a Bosmeri archer fitting another arrow into his bow. I was in somewhat of a difficult position: the archer could move around and get a clear shot at me while I was effectively pinned down.

Hmmm, if he wanted a clear shot, he’d have to move over there ~ towards the bridge. And that would bring him nicely into my line of fire. And fire it was too: as the Wood Elf darted into position, I extended my hands and chanted the words of my trusty fire-ball spell. There was a muffled scream as the fireball wrapped itself around the archer, but I wanted to waste no time. Leaping from concealment, I raced over and drove the point of my sword into the Bosmeri’s throat, silencing him. The impact of the fireball had knocked the bow from his hand, and I appropriated it for my own use ~ after all, I couldn’t be reliant on a sword all the time and a ranged weapon that didn’t involve the expenditure of magicka would definitely come in handy. All I needed now were some arrows…

The other three spies were strung out in the Ashunammu caves, making them fairly easy targets for me to pick off one by one. Sticking to the shadows and using contact magic· wherever possible, I made my way down inside the chambers and tunnels of the cave until I’d dealt with all of them. Not that I’d escape unscathed, thank you very much. One of them had been a little quicker on the uptake than the others and had managed to skewer me quite efficiently. Using strips torn from their clothing, I was able to make a passable dressing for the wound and the restore health potion quickly stopped the bleeding and closed up the lesion. I was, however, feeling a little woozy from blood loss and shock and desperately needed to get some rest and recuperation. The hammocks slung up in Ashunammu looked extremely inviting…