The Tale Of Sudhendra Vahl: Mad Gods, Being the ninth chapter... Options

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The first things I wanted to do this morning were to put some of my recently acquired funds into the Bank of Vvardenfell; I also wanted to deliver the Amulet of Infectious Charm to Louis Beauchamp. To that end, I opened a portal after breaking my fast and stepped though into the dusty streets of Ald’ruhn.

“The amulet,” Louis gasped when I handed the twinkling charm over to him. He listened with a distracted air as I relayed the fate of the missing airship: somehow I think the loss of the craft and its crew was of secondary importance to him. He did, however, pay me two thousand Septims for recovering the amulet and finding out what had happened to his aircraft.

From there I returned to Tel Vahl where, reluctantly, I donned the uniform of the Legion before opening a portal to Ebonheart. Captain Carius had informed me that Varus Vatinius has issued an instruction that I am to report to him. The Imperial Dragon was easy enough to find, he was the ill-favoured Imperial that I’d seen at the side of the Duke Dren when I applied for my construction contract ~ the one with a low opinion of Telvanni honour.

“So, the Telvanni returns,” he sneered when I crashed to attention in front of him and snapped off a salute. “Finally decided to get on the winning side, eh?”

When I made no response to his barb, he snorted and said, “you’ve turned out to be a decent soldier Telvanni, and several commanders speak quite highly of you. Do right by me and I’ll make sure that you get what you’re due.

“Now then,” he continued, “I have a job for you. Until a day or two ago, the Lord’s Mail was displayed in the Cult Shrine here. Somehow somebody got in and stole it ~ none of the guards saw anything. Take the key to the Shrine and see what you can learn. Bring me the Lord’s Mail and I’ll give you a promotion.”

My first step was to visit the barracks, housed in the lower levels of Fort Hawkmoth. Most of the guards were unwilling to talk to me but one; a Redguard by the name of Sader was disposed to talk. He told me that Furius Acilius had recently been passed over for promotion and had gone AWOL. I hardly thought it coincidental that Furius Acilius had gone missing two days before the Lord’s Mail vanished. I took a look around Acilius’ quarters but, apart from a scribbled comment about Vatinius that make me smirk, there was nothing of any interest.

Both of the Troopers assigned to the Shrine snapped to attention, clenched fists crashing against their cuirasses as they saluted me. Despite my time with the Legion, that was one thing I still hadn’t gotten used to. The door to the Shrine clicked open and I stepped into a fairly typical Imperial Cult Shrine. Multi-denomination tapestries hung from the walls ~ except for behind the altar, where a rich green and gold tapestry depicted Julianos. There were the usual sacred objects on the altar, a small silver platter for collecting donations and a large silver chalice. The green and gold cloth that covered the cold stone block confirmed that this was a Shrine devoted to Julianos.

I understood why the Imperial Cult adopted this multi-denominational style in Morrowind but I missed the majesty of the individual Shrines that I remembered from my travels around the Illiac Bay. Not that I was particularly moved by the idea of the Divines any more ~ the things I had experienced in my time here had seriously undermined my faith in the religion of my childhood. Shaking off the melancholia that my childhood memories always seemed to induce, I returned to the task at hand.

There were no windows in the Shrine, nowhere that somebody could have clambered in and stolen the artefact. The heavily reinforced door couldn’t have been broken down without attracting the attention of people nearby. Nor had I missed the flare of magic when I’d inserted the key into the lock ~ such locks (requiring both mundane and magical means to open them) were extremely rare and notoriously difficult to pick. And, given that Furius Acilius was, by all accounts, a career soldier it was unlikely that he’d have the skill to pick such a lock.

Something had been tugging at my subconscious while I examined the door. Turning I surveyed the small, austere chamber. A close-fitting door and no windows… So, where was the breeze that was fluttering the edge of the tapestry nearest the door coming from? The wall behind the wall hanging looked solid enough but a quick chant of “Ostendo sum” soon revealed the truth.

The flare of reddish-purple light settled along the outlines of the hidden door, a loud click denoting the fact that the unlocking spell I’d just read from the scroll had done its work. The heavy stone door creaked open to reveal a small stone cell barely big enough for me to get into. The floor of the cell was covered with dried mud; the rough reed mat that covered it caked with the stuff. Since there was no obvious other exit, I placed my hand against the back wall of the cell and pushed. There was a click and a large section of stonework moved backwards to reveal a dark opening.

The muddy floor of the cave left me in no doubt that the thief had used this secret way into the Shrine and that it would take someone who knew Ebonheart extremely well to have known of this hidden access ~ someone like, let’s say, a career soldier who’s been stationed at Ebonheart for years and has, for the sake of argument, recently been passed over for promotion.

The dimly illuminated tunnel meandered through the rock coming, at last, to a meeting place where three other passageways met. With a shrug, I turned to my left and pressed on down the rocky passage. I had gone barely a hundred paces down the tunnel when I was confronted by a snarling legionnaire. He wasted no time on words, the Imperial broadsword already sliding from the scabbard at his waist as he rushed towards me.

The crash of steel on steel echoed through the cave as I blocked the scything blow Acilius aimed at my head, the impact making my arm quiver. I retaliated, pushing his sword up and away with the Blodskal and slashing the heavy blade inwards. He danced back a step, bringing in his broadsword to deflect the blow. Now it was my turn to back-pedal in order to avoid his upward cut.

We eyed each other warily for a moment, each taking measure of our opponent. Acilius was strong but lacked finesse ~ like so many in the Legion he relied on his training and had no… style. With a grunt, he proved my point, slashing in a powerhouse blow that would have done serious damage if I hadn’t blocked it. My return blow scored a mark across his cuirass. Gripping the sword tightly, he aimed a series of vicious overhead blows at me, forcing me backwards.

Sensing, rather than seeing, that he’d changed his grip on the hilt, I swung the Blodskal downward, the greater mass of the Nordic blade knocking the broadsword from Acilius’ hand. I had barely registered that I’d disarmed him when a thunderous punch to the face drove me backwards. I blinked, my vision blurred from the blow, and saw him stoop and pick up his sword again. I gave him no time to prepare.

“Never,” my sword crashed into his upraised blade with a force that made my arm shudder.

“Hit,” I blocked his blow, the blades singing as they crashed into each other.

“A,” his steel blade shattered as I smashed the Blodskal down on it as he raised it to block the blow.

“Lady!” I finished, driving the point of the Nordic blade into the Imperial’s throat and slamming him back against the wall.

Rolling Furius Acilius over, I undid the silver clasps that held the glittering cuirass in place. The armour came off after a few minutes struggle and I held the heavy, padded cuirass up to examine it. It was made of some dark metal and appeared to be overlapping scales. The edges of the armour were decorated with fine gold scrollwork. That was not, however, what kept me there holding the heavy armour. Visions of combat danced in my head, snatches of scenery that I almost recognised, the crash of steel on steel and the screams of the dying mingled with the triumphant cries of the victors.

Shaking myself all over, I looked at the armour and licked my lips. The overwhelming urge to put it on and just… well, take charge had faded. With a shaky sigh, I placed the cuirass on a rock and opened my pack. Handling the scaled Lord’s Mail as little as possible, I dropped it into my pack. A careful exploration of the caves revealed the rest of Furius Acilius’ belongings ~ a sack containing a couple of hundred Septims, a pair of pauldrons made of the same dark, scaled metal, and a glass-bladed sword. My exploration also revealed a water-filled passageway that led to a door. This egress opened out onto a small sandy beach at the foot of the cliffs: above me loomed the bulk of the castle and keep. It must have pleased Acilius to have stolen the Lord’s Mail and, quite literally, hidden it under the noses of those he felt had cheated him.

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He waited for my answer, but I just sat on his bed and stared at him. How in Azura’s name had I known that? When it was obvious that no answer was forthcoming, Cosades continued his briefing. “I’ve arranged some supplies for you at Fort Buckmoth, see Crulius Pontanian and Somitus Vunnis. It’s nothing too special I’m afraid, just some potions, scrolls, water, and food. As far as they are concerned, you’re heading into the Molag Amur to reconnoitre the area in preparation for Legion manoeuvres there.

“When you’ve done that,” he said, ignoring my continued silence, “I would head to Maar Gan. Nuleno Tedas is a scout who knows the Ashlander camps well and she’ll be able to give you directions on how to reach the Urshilaku Camp. Again, she knows nothing other than that you’re part of a prospective trade mission, looking to establish commercial links to the Ashlanders.”

I shook my head as I stood up. “No,” I said flatly, “I will not be a party to this madness.”

“Listen Finder… Sudhendra,” Cosades said softly, “I know this is all something of a shock and I appreciate that you’re feeling rather put upon at the moment. Look at it this way, if you’re not…” He held up a hand to forestall my vehement comment. “…the Nerevarine, this Maesa woman will be able to tell you. Then you can come back here and tell me ‘I told you so’ and tell me to stick the job where the sun doesn’t shine. On the other hand…

“House Telvanni is all about power: personal power and power for the House. Tell me Sudhendra, how powerful would the Telvanni be if they had the actual, living reincarnation of Nerevar living with them?”

“I’ll go,” I said softly, quietly. “And when this Wise-Woman tells me what I already know to be the truth, I’ll return here and tell you. Then I expect to never hear from you, the Blades, or any agent of the Empire ever again. If I do…” I left the threat unspoken, feeding magicka into the construct I’d envisioned, causing the temperature in the room to plummet. With a disdainful flick of the hand, I dismissed the cantrip and slammed out of the bed-and-basket Cosades called home.

I stormed into Fort Buckmoth and got the scrolls and potions ~ mostly cure common disease and cure blight ~ along with enough food and water to last a couple of days if I was frugal. Banging back out of the Fort, I opened a passageway to Ald’ruhn and void-walked to the dusty main square. From there I took the silt-strider up to Maar Gan.

By the time I arrived in Maar Gan, I’d simmered down enough to think rationally about what was going on and the part the Empire wanted me to play. The obvious conclusions that could be drawn were: one, the Emperor has gone completely stark-raving mad; two, this is all some plot to get me into trouble with the Temple and the Ashlanders; three, this is all some plot to cause civil strife in Morrowind, enabling the Empire to tighten it’s stranglehold; or four, there is something else going on to the Empire’s advantage that I’ve not yet figured out.

Even good, healthy Telvanni paranoia couldn’t convince me that the whole point of my arrest, trial, and subsequent exile here on Vvardenfell was just some plot to get me executed as a heretical troublemaker. Likewise, I couldn’t manage to convince myself that the Emperor had gone completely around the bend ~ that would surely have been noticed. I could, however, believe that this was some plot to gain advantage for the Empire in this notoriously troublesome Province, probably by inciting strife by some method I hadn’t yet guessed. There was, of course, a fifth option but that was even more ridiculous than the idea that this was just a plot to rid the Empire of one Sudhendra Vahl, and I refused to consider it for a moment.

The Tradehouse in Maar Gan provided food and lodgings so I booked a room for the night, as I didn’t fancy the idea of wandering around the ash wastes of the Molag Amur at night. The food was simple, plain and plentiful ~ all of which were exactly what I wanted. And the scout was perfectly willing to give me directions, having been paid by the East Empire Company to provide them.

“So you’re looking to establish a trade-route with the Ashlanders, eh?” Nuleno asked. I gave no answer so she shrugged and said, “you know the Foyada Bani-Dad?”

“So,” she continued when I said I’d travelled along it before, “travel right up the Bani-Dad until you reach the end, you’ll know you’ve reached it because you’ll have reached the northern coast of Vvardenfell. There’s a shipwreck just to the east, you’ll need to swim towards it, around the headland, and make for the beach. Head due east from there, past the ruins of the Assurnabitashpi Shrine. Just a little further to the east, almost in the Shrine’s shadow, is the Urshilaku Camp.”