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]

Sometimes you get a lucky break, and that was what I got as I was leaving Shallit. There, on the bare rock between the pool and the crates was a line of damp footprints. They led away from the crates and suddenly stopped. Looking up, I saw what I had missed previously ~ a ledge up near the top of the cave that was almost perfectly hidden by some overhanging rocks. Now I knew why there had been so many Rising Force potions in the crate.

Taking a potion, I eyed the thin purplish liquid inside the flask uneasily. With a soft sigh, I pulled out the cork and drank deeply of the oddly smelling fluid. Tentatively at first, then with more confidence, I started to walk upwards through thin air. It felt oddly like walking on marshy ground ~ soft underfoot and giving the impression that you’re going to meet a catastrophic problem at any moment but still managing to support you. I did find, however, that looking down was not a very good thing to do. So, eyes resolutely forward and wobbling slightly, I air-walked my way up to the stony ledge.

Sticking to the shadows, I carefully peered around an outcropping rock. There, a little way in front of me, stood a roughly dressed Dunmer ~ his back to me. I had no idea how many ruffians were in this cave along with Rels Tenim but I was pretty sure they’d all take exception to my being there. And, even if I managed to sneak past them all somehow and find Tenim? I was fairly confident that the alarm would be raised and I’d have to fight them all on the way out. So, divide and conquer seemed my only option.

I had a small dagger with me – a replacement I’d purchased for the one lost at Nchurdamz. Keeping to the shadows as much as I was able and keeping as quiet as I could (and silently blessing the bandits for leaving this tunnel unlit), I crept up behind the Mer and clamped my hand across his mouth. I wouldn’t have been able to keep him quiet for long but then again, I didn’t have to. I brought my dagger up under his chin – hard. He stiffened, then convulsed against me as the sharp business end of the blade punched into his brain. Sagging a little under his now dead weight, I carefully lowered him to the floor and moved deeper into the hidden recesses of the cavern.

Luck had been with me so far, and it was staying with me as I approached a sharp curve in the tunnel. From just around the bend, I heard the soft scrape of leather on stone. Freezing on the spot, I waited to see if I could hear anything else. Yes, there ~ the padding of feet on stone moving away from me. I’m not very proficient with a bow and have certainly had no formal training: that didn’t stop me from unhooking the wooden shortbow I had been carrying and knocking a steel arrow onto the string. With exaggerated caution, I moved to the edge of the curve and peered down the adjoining passageway. Some thirty paces away stood a female Dunmer clad in leather. As I watched, she started to turn…

Ducking back into cover, I held my breath as I pulled back on the bowstring ~ bringing it to tension as I counted the footsteps that approached. At ten, I drew the string back further so that the ends of the bow started to take up the pressure. At twenty, I pulled the bowstring fully taut. At twenty-five, I spun out of the corner and let fly the arrow. Straight and true it flew – punching into the woman’s eye in a welter of blood. Soundlessly, she fell to the floor. I wish the same could have been said of the sword she carried.

“Vad var så pass?” I heard a guttural Nordic voice say as the metallic clatter echoed through the enclosed space. I knew then that my luck had just run out. I had just enough time to prepare myself by drawing my axe and calling a spell to mind before the heavy-set Man rushed into sight. The fight was brutal and messy: his greater strength and reach made him a dangerous opponent for me; I did have the advantage of speed however. We traded blows back and forth until I managed to get in a lucky hit. The Man grunted in surprise, looking down to where his intestines were hanging out of his stomach. He gasped something I didn’t understand and sagged against the wall. I wasn’t taking any chances at this point and ran my dagger across his throat – there was no way I was leaving a potentially dangerous, albeit badly injured, opponent behind me.

(Some of you might be a little confused by my apparent bloodthirsty behaviour in light of my reaction to the poor Man at Tel Mora. That monstrosity hadn’t asked to be the shambling and mindless hulk he became. Tenim and his cohorts had deliberately chosen this life, knowing that they would have to kill to get their booty. That, plus the fact that they’d do their damned best to put me in a grave before I did for them.)

There were a couple more opponents to deal with before I was satisfied that I had cleared the cavern of occupants. I’d picked up several bruises and cuts ~ the worst being a long gash down my left arm. Searching through various chests, barrels and containers I found a nice haul of precious stones, some of the rarer alchemical ingredients and some nice weapons. Much more importantly to me, at this moment in time anyway, was the restorative potion I found. Gratefully, I drank the pungent liquid and then sat moaning as the stuff did its job. I even managed to drift off to sleep for a moment or two.

I can’t put my finger on it, but I seemed to feel much better after my little nap ~ almost as though there was more to me than there used to be, if that makes any sense at all. It’s a feeling I’ve come to know well: that feeling of being better than I used to be. At the time I just shrugged it off as an effect of the healing potion and thought no more about it. Making sure I’d taken everything I wanted from Shallit, I cast the spell that would return me to Sadrith Mora.

“I’d like to deposit a thousand Septims into my account,” I told the stern-faced woman in the Sadrith Mora branch of the Bank of Vvardenfell. She carefully counted the coins and swept them off the counter.

“Your statement of account,” she said. When I handed it over, she cast some spell over it that rewrote the figures and made them reflect my recent deposit. With that done, I made my way back into Wolverine Hall and sold off most of the ingredients filling my pack for almost six hundred Septims. Most of them went to the Altmer in the Mages Guildhall, but I also sold some to a talkative monk named Scelian Plebo in the Imperial shrine. Then it was time to speak to Hrundi.

“Lassie, you came back!” he said happily as I walked in the door. “I heard tell o’ that beast in Tel Mora. Yon Berwen was right pleased wi’ ye.” I’d noticed that his accent got broader the happier he was – if he ever got too happy nobody would be able to understand him. Still, it was nice that he was glad to see me: that’s not a feeling I was accustomed too. “I have here the money she sent for ye, less our commission o’ course.

“And you took care o’ Rels Tenim too from all accounts, so I’ll be owin’ you this sum too.” With that Hrundi carefully counted out seven hundred Septims and slid them across the table to me.

“I’ve another wee job for you, if you’re at all interested,” he said. “I’ll be sorry to say it’s not as exciting as the last two jobs. We hae a contract with the Imperial Legion to supply the soldiers at some o’ the mines here on Vvardenfell. I’ve a load of Sujamma here needs to be delivered to the Dunirai Mines.

“Here, let me show you on your map,” he said. I spread the map on the table and he leaned over and stabbed a finger into an area of nothingness on the map. “It’s right here lassie,” he said, “southeast o’ the Ghostgate an’ roughly between Foyada Esannudan and the Foyada Ashur-Dan.”

Well, I did want to get to know the island that was my home ~ although tramping into the middle of nowhere to deliver the twenty bottles of booze I was now carrying hadn’t figured in my plans for doing so. Besides, how dangerous could it be?

Once more Hrundi let me bed down for the night in the Guildhouse and I slept the sleep of the truly ignorant.