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]

Hrundi and I broke our fast together before I started out. After that I made my way down to the docks where I circulated amongst the various captains and Bo ‘suns until I found a vessel that was headed to a place called Dagon Fel. The ship’s mate agreed to drop me off at Tel Mora, for a financial consideration. And so it was, several hours later that I found myself on the dockside at Tel Mora.

The tiny island was dominated by another of those mushroom-tower buildings, with a cluster of smaller ‘buildings’ around the base. Since everyone on the dock was busy unloading, or loading, the ship I’d just arrived on I decided to see if I could find this Berwen the Trader myself. Not exactly the wisest of decisions. There was this circular growth at the end of the dock and the instant I stepped past that I was surrounded by guards. They wore the traditional armour that I’d seen guards wearing in Balmora – although of a slightly different design: Bonemold I think it is called. They all wore strange helmets upon their heads, purple-coloured things with horns and strange protuberances. Oddly, they all wore long, ankle length skirts similar to the guards I’d seen in Ald’ruhn.

“Where are you going?” one of the guards asked me, an unmistakable tone of menace in her voice. It dawned on me that each and every one of the guards surrounding me was female.

“I am Swordsman Sudhendra Vahl,” I said, managing to keep my voice firm. “I am here at the bequest of Berwen the Trader.”

The guard directed me to the shop and warned me that she’d be watching me before moving off. Not exactly the friendliest people I’ve ever encountered, these Telvanni, I thought as I clambered up the ladder to the ‘pod’ that served Berwen as a shop.

“Oh thank the goddess you’re here,” the attractive Bosmeri female breathed as I entered the shop. “Wait, you are from the Fighter’s Guild, aren’t you?” I assured her that I was, and she sighed with relief. “The beast’s upstairs ~ I managed to barricade it behind some crates.”

Unslinging my axe from my back, I smiled tightly ~ if there was just one creature (and there certainly was something upstairs, I could hear it) then it shouldn’t be much of a problem. As I climbed the spiral stairs became aware of a smell: like fruit that has started to rot, or butter that’s been left in the sunshine too long. As I moved into the upper area, the smell became stronger.

Something in a dark corner moved as I reached the top of the stairs, and then came a heavy clumping sound as light reflected on the creature’s eyes from the lone lantern. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this ruin of a Man that stepped out of the shadows ~ arms outstretched towards me. Its… no, his skin had gone a greyish colour: not the colour of healthy Dunmeri flesh, but an ashy grey. Huge lesions and sores dotted the almost naked body, where they didn’t, the skin looked flaky ~ as though it needed but an excuse to start peeling off. The face was a ruin, the lips misshapen and slobbering, the hair falling out in patches even as I watched. The nose of the Man seemed to have partially collapsed, as though he’d caught one of those diseases that sailors pick up on shore leave. But it was the eyes that were the worst. I’ve heard it said that the eyes are the windows of the soul: if that was true, then there was nothing left of it in this creature.

As it clawed for me, I swung the axe in a perfectly flat arc. I was outside the creature’s reach, but the extension of the axe-handle put it firmly in mine. There was a horrible, indescribable sound as the creature’s neck split ~ the head parting company from the rest of the torso and hitting the floor with a terrible and final sound. Shaking, I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. As deformed and corrupt as the creature had been, it still felt uncomfortably like the murder of an innocent.

Adopting a suitably grim face ~ not a difficult task, let me assure you ~ I walked downstairs. I was proud of myself, I didn’t rush even though I wanted to, nor did I stumble, even though my knees felt like jelly. “I’ve dealt with the creature for you,” I told Berwen.

“Oh thank you,” she said, “thank you. You’re so much braver than I am, and I’ll be sure to tell that nice man from the Fighter’s Guild just how good you were.”

I didn’t comment on the fact that I thought she was pretty brave herself, what with staying in the building with that mouldering hulk upstairs. Instead, I bid her farewell and made my way back down to the docks ~ wondering, as I did so, why the numerous guards patrolling Tel Mora hadn’t dealt with the creature. I was in luck, the first real luck I’d had this day: there was a small skiff at the docks and ~ for the princely sum of a single Septim ~ the ship owner agreed to row me across to the village of Vos.

Vos seemed a pleasant enough hamlet, built in a strange style I didn’t recognise. There was a fair amount of hustle and bustle as the locals tended to their crops. I managed to collar one of them and ask him about Rels Tenim.

“Well, arrr. You see, he done robbed the local Temple Miss, arrr, that he did,” the yokel drawled. “We done give a chasing arter him, but he got hisself up to the Ahemmusa Camp. We don’t be goin’ there, them Ashlanders ain’t none too friendly.”

A slightly more alert (and intelligent I thought) guard confirmed the local’s story. Rels Tenim had robbed the local Temple and headed off northeast to the Ahemmusa camp. Following the guard’s directions, I found the camp easily enough. Standing on a hillside overlooking the collection of temporary looking yurts, I considered my approach. Walking in with axe in hand didn’t seem like a very good idea, I’d heard that these Ashlanders could be a bit… touchy about outsiders. With a deep sigh, I holstered my axe and ~ pausing only to prepare a spell in case I needed it ~ I entered the camp.

I was expecting savages, what I got instead were a very proud people who, if they deigned to speak to me at all, spoke with an icy politeness that bordered on the frigid. It took several attempts to get one of the Ashlanders to speak to me and I suspect that was only because I spoke the name Rels Tenim. With utter distain, he told me that the bandit had a camp in the Shallit caves. These were to be found on a small island to the northwest of the Ahemmusa camp. I was also told that, if I came to a Dwemer ruin, I would have gone too far and would have to turn back.

Thanking my informant with as much charm as I could muster, I headed off to the shoreline ~ only a little way from the camp. Licking my lips, I spoke the incantation “rigor unda“ and stepped out onto the shimmering surface of the water. I’d used my water-walking spell several times in the past, but never on an ocean. Seeing that it worked just as well on the undulating surface as it did on a flat, still pond, I stepped out with confidence and began moving as quickly as I dared towards a small bunch of islands to the northwest. I had to recast the spell several times before I arrived at an island that was slightly bigger than the others I’d been past. Another thing that set this island out from the others was the partially submerged door nestling between some rocks. The cartouche on the door clearly identified it as ‘Shallit Cave’.

This is odd, although there is ample evidence of occupation, there is nobody in the cave. There are a couple of crates, one containing a couple of ‘Rising Force’ potions, near the front of the cave and a fire pit and bedrolls at the back. Right at the back of the cave is a door, old and scarred, which (according to the cartouche) leads into the Drethan tomb. Perhaps there’s a clue to Tenim’s whereabouts in there?

You know what they say about the best-laid plans of Scribs and Mer? Well I was just about to get evidence that even the best and most careful plans could go way further astray than you could imagine.