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Sudhendra Vahl, the first chapter |
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minque |
Feb 18 2005, 11:36 PM
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Wise Woman

Joined: 11-February 05
From: Where I can watch you!!

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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.
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Chomh fada agus a bhionn daoine ah creiduint in aif�iseach, leanfaidh said na n-aingniomhi a choireamh (Voltaire)Facebook
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minque |
Feb 18 2005, 11:48 PM
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Wise Woman

Joined: 11-February 05
From: Where I can watch you!!

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So it was bleary eyed and stiff after a most uncomfortable night in the boat, that we arrived at the docks in Sadrith Mora. There I got a most disagreeable surprise.
“You cannot enter Sadrith Mora without the proper paperwork,” the guard standing in front of the massive stone door that blocked my access to the town said. “Speak to the Prefect of Hospitality.” He instructed, pointing me to a set of stairs heading up into the most bizarre building I’ve ever seen. The wooden stairs led up to what appeared to be a mushroom, only a mushroom with a circular door set into the side. A little bemused, I climbed the stairs and stepped into the cool interior.
“What can I do for you Outlander?” the tall, well-clad Dunmer said, turning from the desk that stood at the side of the circular room.
“I’m looking for someone called ‘The Prefect of Hospitality,” I explained. “I need to see him before I can get into Sadrith Mora apparently.”
“I am Angaredhel, the Prefect of Hospitality,” the Dunmer stated. “And it’s true than you need to see me before entering Sadrith Mora ~ as do all Outlanders. We don’t allow non-Telvanni to wander around our town, or deal with our traders unless they’ve purchased Hospitality Papers. Even then, your movements are restricted: you must return to Wolverine Hall or here, the Gateway Inn, for the night. The papers are twenty-five Septims.”
Rather reluctantly, I purchased the papers, although I was happy to discover that one set of papers would cover as many visits to Sadrith Mora as I wanted to make. As Angaredhel took my twenty-five Septims, I’m sure I heard him mutter something about ‘at least making some money’. “Is there some problem?” I asked.
“Problem?” he fairly squawked. “I’ll say there is a problem. A ghost has haunted the South Turret bedroom. It’s been there over a week now, and nothing seems to get rid of it, nothing. I’ve had cleansing rituals performed, I’ve had the ghost killed, and still it keeps haunting the turret. I even got Arara Uvulas to take a look, but she couldn’t find a reason for the haunting, nor get rid of the spectre. I’m at my wits end, and it’s ruining my business: everyone is heading over to Wolverine Hall instead of staying here.”
I sympathised with Angaredhel, but really didn’t see how this was anything to do with me, nor what I could do. Thanking him for the papers, I made my way back outside and down the circular stairs to the guard. He checked my papers and nodded, swinging open the massive stone door and allowing me into Sadrith Mora. It rapidly became apparent that the ‘Gateway Inn’ wasn’t unique in being grown rather than constructed. There were many more of these mushroom-buildings, and the whole town had a grown, organic look to it. Dominating the town was a massive mushroom, far larger than any of the others, set in isolation on the hill in the middle of the island. It was with a sense of wonder that I walked along the street to the rather bland buildings that made up the Imperial settlement on this island.
Heading into Wolverine Hall, I sold a number of alchemical ingredients to a rather disagreeable fellow by the name of Scelian Plebo. Still, I did get six Cure Common Disease potions and a couple of hundred Septims out of the deal. The dour fellow in the Imperial Shrine hadn’t been pleased to see me, Hrundi was.
“Well, well,” he said as I walked into the Guildhouse. “Look who’s back. Larienna Macrina was very pleased with your performance, I have her report here.” (Here he waved a sheaf of parchment at me). “It seems as though you acquitted yourself in an exemplary manner Journeyman Vahl, or should I just start calling you Swordsman Vahl?” In addition to the rather sudden promotion, I also received the not inconsiderable sum of five hundred Septims for the task I’d just completed.
“Now you’ve proven yourself to be reliable,” he said, without any trace of shame at expressing his doubts, “I have a further task for you.
“It seems that there’s some trouble at the Dissapla Mine, over in the Grazelands. The guards there are busy protecting the Empire’s investment so Novor Drethan, the Manager of the mine, has asked for our assistance. I want you to go to the mine and sort out whatever his problem is.”
“Where is this Dissapla Mine?” I asked, “The Grazelands covers a large area.”
“It’s by the ancient Dark Elf fort of Falensarano,” he said. “Here, let me mark it on your map. The mine is just a little way northeast of the fortress.”
I examined my new annotated map; the fortress was roughly west of a town called Tel Aruhn. And by way of being far too far to travel today. I still had a few aches and pains from my visit to the Dwemer ruins, my axe needed sharpening, and I had a serious dent in my armour that needed repairing. So, not surprisingly, I opted to return to Balmora and take care of all of those things, and a few other things besides.
Ra’Virr seemed oddly eager to get his hands on the tiny Dwemeri coins and the items of tableware I’d picked up and gave me a very good price for them. That money, coupled with the money I got for a couple of weapons I’d picked up in Nchurdamz was more than enough to pay Meldor to sharpen my axe and repair my armour: with enough left over to get a soothing balm from Nelcarya for my aches and pains and buy some provisions from the ‘Eight Plates’. After a quick meal, I slipped into a cosy bed and slept the sleep of the newly promoted.
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Chomh fada agus a bhionn daoine ah creiduint in aif�iseach, leanfaidh said na n-aingniomhi a choireamh (Voltaire)Facebook
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