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]

The following morning I was up bright and early, selling off some stuff to raise two hundred Septims for Helviane Desele: a couple of scrolls I didn’t think I’d need, a tattered copy of ‘The Alchemist’s Formulary’; and a couple of iron swords. All in all, I managed to raise two hundred and seventeen Septims with my various sales. Marching into the Guildhall, I went up to Eydis Fire-Eye and dropped the money contemptuously onto the table, “there’s your debt money” I said, making sure she could hear the quotation marks around the word “debt”.

“And that’s your share,” she replied obliviously, separating out twenty five-Septim pieces and sliding them back across the table to me. “Now, if you’re at all interested, I have a bounty that needs to be collected. The person is here in Balmora, in a house across the river. You can’t mistake the house, it’s the only one with a tower, and the bounty is two hundred and fifty Septims.”

“And what’s the catch?” I asked quizzically.

“Ah, well, the bounty is on one Dura gra-Bol.”

“Oh great,” I muttered as I gathered up the necessary papers. “A bleeding Orc.”

I’ve met a few Orcs in the past, and a more dour and taciturn race of people you’re unlikely to meet on the face of Nirn. They have some very strange ideas and even stranger religious practices, and almost no sense of humour whatsoever. In fact, the only reason you find so many of them throughout the Empire is that they are superbly skilled warriors. And therein lay the nub of my problem: this Dura gra-Bol would probably outweigh me by several hundred pounds and be skilled in more weapons techniques than I even knew existed. Damn’, time for me to be sneaky.

I paid a visit to the local alchemist, a rather snooty High Elf by the name of Nelcarya. For a sizeable financial consideration, she provided me with two phials. One contained a potent potion that would make me blend into the background for a while. The other a particularly vile poison called Spike. Nasty stuff, it caused partial blindness and paralysis. Making sure I was unobserved, I poured the venom onto the blade my old iron sword before crossing the river and entering gra-Bol’s house. The instant I shut the door, I uncapped the chameleon potion and drank deeply.

“Who there?” the huge Orc rumbled as it thundered down the stairs, dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. As soon as it had its back to me, I stabbed it hard and deep with the sword. It let out a fearsome yell and whirled around, waving it’s hand back and forth through the space I’d been occupying. The reason it didn’t find me was that I’d ducked and sprinted up a few stairs the instant I’d driven the blade into the Orc’s muscular shoulder.

“Gone kill you very dead,” it rumbled slowly. “Don’t know you who, but you dead soon.” I seriously doubted that: the Orc’s voice was starting to slur and its movements were slowing down. In addition, it was blinking its eyes and peering around in a manner that indicated it was having difficulty seeing. Now, before my potion wore off, was the time to strike.

I stood there panting, looking down at the corpse of the slowly cooling Orc, the Spike-envenomed blade jutting from its chest where I’d planted it a few moments before. Even with the poison coursing through its veins, it had been one hell of a fighter. As I thought back on the frantic exchange of blows, my knees buckled and I sank to the floor in a state of exhaustion ~ ignoring the hammering on the door.

“Minute,” I managed to gasp as the hammering became a positive fusillade of blows. Dragging myself wearily to my feet, I opened the door to discover two very aggrieved looking guards. I handed them the bounty paperwork, which made them look slightly less unhappy. Before they dragged the body away, I quickly stripped it of the axe it carried and helped myself to the fifty Septims in its purse. Leaving them to struggle as they took it away, I closed the door behind them as quickly as I could. I was starting to recover, and an intriguing idea had just crossed through my mind.

Even though I was contemplating leaving Balmora for less politically charged climes, I might need a base of operations until I got settled somewhere. I knew Balmora, I knew its alleyways and shops, and the town was well connected for travel. Unless I intended to pay for a room at whatever inn happened to be nearby whenever I wished to rest, a permanent location would be ideal. And, lo and behold, here was a perfectly serviceable residence. If I couldn’t find a key for the front door, I could always ward the place until I could get the lock replaced. It made sense on so many levels.

A quick search of the place revealed its few charms. There was a bed in a small alcove downstairs, by the stairs. A small table stood near the head of the bed while, at the other end, stood a rough wooden chest. It was inside this chest that I found some clothing that had belonged to Dura gra-Bol, seventy-five Septims, and a key to the front door. On the other side of the stairs was another alcove: into here was crammed a large chest of drawers and a roughly crafted, but functional, set of shelves. Up the stairs, and there was a door that led out onto a balcony type thing overlooking the Odai. Another two short flights of stairs led up to a storage area, containing two large crates, several wooden barrels, and a couple of wicker baskets with lids. It was never going to win an award for being an ideal home, but it had plenty of storage and a place to sleep: what more could a girl ask for?

I spent an hour, or so, moving my stuff out of the South Wall Cornerclub and into my new residence before making my way to the Fighters Guildhall. Eydis paid me the bounty on Dura gra-Bol, and then promoted me to the rank of Journeyman. Then she dropped the hammer: she had no more work for me. Rather dismissively, she suggested that I speak with the Guild Stewards in Ald’ruhn, Sadrith Mora, or Vivec City. Actually, that was fine by me, so not into having to deal with the Camorra Tong problem within the Guild. I wondered if any of the other members (there are usually a couple of Guild members in the Guildhouse at any one time) could give me some hints. Obviously, asking Eydis Fire-Eye was out of the question.

I finally found just the person I wanted, a trainer by the name of Hasphat Antabolis. His suggestion was carefully couched, but it was pretty plain that he knew what was happening in the guild and, more importantly, wasn’t too happy about it.

“Yeah, sure, I can make a recommendation,” he said when I asked him. “Try Hrundi in Sadrith Mora, or Percius Mercius over in Ald’ruhn. They’re good people, if you know what I mean?” I knew exactly what he meant or, at least, I thought I did. Thanking him profusely, I made my way out of the Guildhall.

Before I went anywhere, I had a little trading to do. Returning to Dura’s house, I collected together some items and went to town. The excess weaponry I’d collected fetched four hundred and forty-one Septims from the Bosmeri weapons-dealer Meldor. And the oversize clothing that had belonged to Dura gra-Bol? That fetched me one hundred and sixteen Septims from a general merchant named Clagius Clanler. With quite a bit of clink in my pocket, I went to the Mages Guildhouse and had myself sent to Ald’ruhn.

After my stomach had caught up with me, I wandered down the halls of the Guildhouse; nodding to the people I passed. This place seemed a trifle busier than the Mages Guild in Balmora. I was in for a real treat.

“Interested in translocation spells?” a tall, stately woman asked. “I have several pre-keyed translocation spells for sale.” I wondered if these were that same things as the Void-Walk spells I knew about from the mainland. A few questions quickly confirmed that they were. Void-Walk spells were great things, especially the ones with a predetermined location on them. They cost next to no magicka to cast, never fail when you need them, in fact the only downside was that they were very, very expensive. I explained to Delas Mrania that I was interested, but couldn’t possibly afford one.

“Oh, but these are very cheap muthsera,” she protested. “Since there are only a few locations on Vvardenfell, the spells aren’t that difficult to learn and I can sell them to you quite cheaply. How does a thousand and fifty Septims sound?”

It sounded very interesting. I’d discovered that bartering never harms your cause: you can usually sneak a few extra Drakes onto the cost of what you’re selling, or off what you’re buying. After dickering for a while, we settled on a price of a thousand and fourteen Septims for a translocation spell that would send me to Balmora. Now I had the wherewithal to return to my adopted residence from anywhere on the island, at any time I wished to do so.

“Are you Percius Mercius?” I asked the squat and muscular Imperial I found in the lower level of the strange shell that passed for buildings in Ald’ruhn. “Hasphat Antabolis suggested that I should speak to you.” And speak we did, of many things. Firstly, Mercius told me that he had no tasks suitable for a Journeyman, and then we started to talk about the Guild I’d affiliated myself with. It turns out that Percius Mercius used to be the Chief Steward of the Fighters Guild, but not any longer. His place had been usurped by Sjorring Hard-Heart and, according to Mercius at least, the Nord had been issuing some very odd orders and taking the Guild in some very unusual directions of late. Although he didn’t come right out and say it, I guessed that Percius Mercius was referring to the Camorra Tong situation.

He also mentioned that some travellers had seen a dark Orcish knight east of a fort named Berandas. From what he’s been able to gather, this knight is spying on a town called Gnisis. Okay, I could accept one knight travelling between this Shrine of Kummu place and the Bitter Coast: but this third sighting meant that there was definitely more than one of them. His last comment was by way of a piece of advice ~ he suggested that I go to Sadrith Mora and speak to Hrundi in the Guildhouse in Wolverine Hall. He was, according to the Imperial, a good man who knows the value of the old traditions of the Guild.