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]

I crossed the dusty track that passed for a road in Ald’ruhn and once more gave myself to the tender mercies of the Mages Guild’s Guide service: allowing them to transport me to this Wolverine Hall place. I’ve been in a number of Mages Guildhalls and, even in separate provinces; they all shared one thing in common. And that is a certain sense of opulence: Balmora had it and even dusty Ald’ruhn had it. But not here, here the Mages Guildhall seemed to consist of one very crowded room in the Imperial style. That was distinctly odd. What was even odder was that when I left the Mages Guild there was a small Imperial shrine on the same floor and, one floor down, the Fighters Guildhall occupied another small area.

I mentioned this to Hrundi, the Guild Steward: a tall and impressively tattooed Nord clad in studded leather armour. “Aye,” he said, shaking his head. “’Tis an unusual situation all right. However, Sadrith Mora is a fairly unique place an’ we’re only just tolerated here lassie ~ an’ only that provided we stick to the rules.”

It was then that I learned that Caius Cosades’ briefing hadn’t been as exhaustive as I’d imagined. For a start, he’d mentioned the Great Houses that ruled Morrowind province and named them: Hlaalu, Redoran, Indoril, and Dres. He hadn’t said a single thing about Great House Telvanni and Hrundi quickly filled in the gaps in my knowledge.

“The Telvanni Mage-Lords pretty much rule in this corner o’ the Province. They’re canny, wise, awful dangerous to cross, live well nigh forever, and hate foreigners wi’ a passion: us Imperial ‘invaders’ most a’ all. We live under a wee set o’ fairly restrictive rules: provided we stay in Wolverine Hall and dinnae mess wi’ them, they dinnae mess wi’ us.”

So that was what ‘Telvanni’ were: xenophobic Mages with incredible life spans. And to think, I’d come over this side of the island to get away from the dangers of West Gash. Listening to Hrundi, it soon became apparent that what he knew was hearsay: none of it came from firsthand experience. As he explained, he’d arrived at Wolverine Hall six years ago and had been into Sadrith Mora precisely six times ~ although he said that it would be an experience for me to do so. I wondered uneasily what he meant by that. Naturally, our conversation turned to my budding career in the Fighters Guild.

“I have a wee job for you lassie,” Hrundi said. “It’s not one I’d normally give to a Journeyman, but it’s very important an’ the only one I have available. I need ye to go to a place called Nchurdamz: a Dwemer ruin way down the coast from here. There you’ll need tae find a lassie named Larienna Macrina and give her any assistance she needs.”

“Larienna Macrina?” I asked. “An Imperial?”

“Aye,” he said, “a Knight Errand o’ the Legion. D’ye have a problem wi’ that?”

“Not really,” I said with a sigh. “I’m just not a big fan of the Legion, or Imperials for that matter.” And that was understating it. I wanted nothing to do with the Legions, or Imperials in general. So far, every bad thing in my life that had happened had an Imperial involved. And it had been the Legion’s town guards that had beaten me so enthusiastically and got me consigned to prison. They were so not my favourite people. Still, needs must, and I told Hrundi that I accepted the job. He suggested that I go to the Mages Guild and get myself sent to Vivec City and, from there, get a boat to a place called Molag Mar. It was a fairly brisk walk from there to the ruins.

I took his advice, first taking the Guild guide service to Vivec City (a place I really must explore thoroughly one of these days) and getting a boat to Molag Mar. Molag Mar turned out to be a miniature Vivec City at the end of a small inlet: posed between the lushness of the Ascadian Isles and the desolation of the Molag Amur. Unfortunately for me, it was into the desolation of the Molag Amur that I now had to head. Pausing to buy a wrap to go around my mouth (a fashion I’d seen in Ald’ruhn and which now made sense to me), I set off.

There’s little to report of my journey through the afternoon, except for one thing. During the late part of the afternoon, before I pitched my tent, I came to the top of a rocky ridge. The path went on a short way before splitting: one branch headed off in the direction I wanted, the other headed towards a large collection of cyclopean buildings. There were each constructed, as far as I could tell, from a single piece of a dark purplish stone that had been hewn as though by a gigantic axe. Tall towers with strange devices on top, tall and harshly hewed walls, bizarre circular buildings supporting domed roofs on thick pillars. The whole thing made me giddy ~ not a one of the angles seemed to be normal, and there were thick pools of shadow where there should have been sunshine. Even more disconcerting were the aura of extreme age and the intense feeling of coldness I got from the place. I was glad the path I needed led away from the place, I had no desire to go any closer than I already was.

I headed off at speed, spurred on by the feeling that I was being observed by a vast and alien intelligence that wasn’t particularly friendly. So intense was the feeling that I soon found myself running pell-mell down the path until, fair exhausted, I collapsed by the side of the road. It was getting dark and I felt I had put enough distance betwixt me and that damnably distressing building for me to be able to rest easily. A little way off the path was a small rocky hollow, and it was here that I pitched my tent and made camp for the night.