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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The muted thunder of the waterfalls in the main chamber had meant that I spent a disturbed and restless night and, well before the sun rose and cast its light on the world outside these stygian chambers, I was awake, fed, and moving. A narrow stone bridge spanned the gap between the central spire and the ledge outside the Fragile Burial. Looking at the water-slicked surface, I sat and removed my boots. Then, slightly more securely, I walked ~ with infinite care ~ across the span and onto the ledge that ran around the monolithic central stone.

Following the ledge, I quickly came to another door: the cartouche identifying it as Kefka. Since Sul-Matuul had neglected to mention where in these labyrinthine chambers I would be likely to meet the shade of his father, I resigned myself to having to explore each and every passageway and chamber. Kefka turned out to be a long, winding passageway that led to a large chamber guarded by four powerful skeletal warriors. For a while things got very exciting, the clash of steel on silver echoing through the chamber as I struggled to disarm and destroy three of the skeletons whilst trying to avoid being skewered by the bow-wielding fourth.

There were several tempting items in Kefka but I was mindful of the traps I had encountered yestere, being careful to touch nothing. Leaving the heaped gold coins and glittering gems behind, I backtracked to the central chamber and cast a baleful glance at the slender path of stone that led from Kefka upwards around the rocky spire. There have been few moments in my long and eventful life that were as nerve-wracking as that ascent ~ often the stone pathway was barely as wide as my foot, and the glistening stone, slick with droplets of water from above, was unforgiving. Nearly as unforgiving as the milk-white foam that surged and swirled hundreds of feet below me.

So you can imagine my relief when, a long time later, I stood panting on the stone platform in front of the door marked Kakuna. I could, I suppose, have made the whole job a great deal easier by simply levitating from one rocky platform to the next. However, given the traps and trials that existed in the mausoleum, I had no intention of running the risk of being… caught wanting at a critical moment. It’s all very well having a nice selection of restore magicka potions but, when you have a trio of skeletal guardians hacking away at you is hardly the time to be going digging in your pack for a potion.

Kakuna was radically different to the other burial chambers I’d been inside; it was ankle-deep in water to start with. The thunder of the main waterfall was overpowered in this echoing void in the rock by the thunder of a smaller, but much closer, waterfall. The burials here were all atop a long rocky ledge that dominated one side of the chamber. Since I could detect no sign of any ghost up there, I didn’t bother levitating up. I did, however, get quite a nasty shock.

The cascading waterfall was ice-cold and the water rich with minerals. Quickly confirming that the water wasn’t rich in harmful salts, I went over to the waterfall to fill my canteens. What it was that made me duck and flinch backwards from the steel blade that suddenly scythed through the tumbling water, I have no idea. A premonition, the flicker of a shadow where there shouldn’t have been one? Whichever it was, it saved me from the worst of the blow, the blade crashing into the heavy Nordic armour rather than slitting my throat.

Back-pedalling quickly, I hurled a fireball at the skeletal figure that breached the waterfall ~ the detonation of the spell shockingly loud in this enclosed space. As dust sifted down from above, I followed this magical attack with a more direct approach. The steel of the skeleton’s blade clanged against the curved edge of the Wish. Lifting its blade, I hacked in a brutal blow, gaining the satisfaction of seeing the ribs of the guardian crack and fall to dust. The flat of the axe-blade smashed into the skull on the back-swing, making the hollow dome spin on the top of the skeleton’s spinal column.

Behind the waterfall was a dimly lit chamber, at the back of which was a raised platform. On top of this platform sat another of the mummified Urshilaku elders. Flanking the corpse were two urns, each containing a quantity of reeking mulch. These had, I guessed, contained flora of an alchemical nature but time had been as unkind to the contents of the urns as they had to the tattered and decaying mummy. Nearby lay a Telvanni Cephalopod Helm, of the sort worn by House Guards and a chest of gemstones. Leaving those, I reclaimed the guard helm and stuffed it in my pack before taking my leave of Kakuna.

There was but one door left and I knew that I would find the spirit of Sul-Senipul behind it. There was just the one problem ~ there was no physical means of reaching the last burial chamber. With a sigh, I became airborne once more, bridging the gap on the unsteady currents of air that rose from the waters so far below. The instant I touched down I dissolved the spell and took a restorative potion to replenish the levels of magicka I had at my command. The Juno Burial Chamber beckoned and I was under no illusions ~ I would need every ounce of guile, skill, and speed I could muster.

The winding passageways of Juno proved to be every bit as difficult as I’d feared. As with all of the burial chambers (with the exception of the Fragile Burial and the main chamber) there were skeletal guardians in here too. As I battled with them, smashing them to dust, I fancied I could hear the howl of Sul-Senipul’s spirit. With the mundane guardians vanquished, I pressed on ~ coming at last to a large chamber whose walls had been smoothed and painted.

And there, skeletal fingers extended towards me as the distorted face screamed its hatred of the living, was the ghost of Sul-Senipul. Eldritch fire swirled around the grasping fingers as it drifted towards me. Deadly whispers of razor-sharp silver hissed from the leather scabbards at my waist, their wickedly sharp edges cleaving the air with a keening sound. As the first blade passed though the spectral form I felt a slight tug and ectoplasmic material was torn from the shade. It screamed in my face, mouth opened wider than an Alit’s. Unfazed, I pressed home my advantage, keeping those clutching, fire-limned claws as far away from me as I could as I wove a net of metallic death. Slash after slash bit home, tearing the ectoplasmic form to ever more tattered shreds until, no longer able to manifest itself, it collapsed into a brilliant spark of light and winked out of existence.

As the otherworldly howl of Sul-Senipul’s spirit echoed around the chamber, there was a decidedly mundane clattering sound as a Bonemold longbow suddenly dropped from the sparkling motes of the shade’s dissolution and bounced off the nearby rocks before coming to a rest on the floor. Picking up Bone-Biter, I admired the workmanship that had gone into the bow, the delicate engraving and carvings that decorated it and the pale, almost golden colour that the Bonemold had assumed over the years. It was, truly, a handsome piece.

“You return,” Sul-Matuul said with a mixture of surprise and pleasure on his face.

“More,” I said, “ bowing my head and extending the Bonemold bow, “I return to you the bow of your father, Sul-Senipul.”

With a bow, he accepted the longbow from me. “I name you now, Sudhendra Vahl, Clanfriend of the Urshilaku. Now, I think, you should speak with our Wise-Woman.”

“And you are the N’Wah who believes she is the Reborn?” the Wise-Woman said, looking me up and down critically after I had answered her questions.

“I believe… I believe I might be the Reborn,” I said.

“No you do not,” she snapped standing in front of me, her crimson eyes flashing with anger. “Your heart, your mind, your spirit ~ they all rebel at the thought. You are not Nerevar, War-leader of the Great Houses, and Clan Master of the People. You are not the Reborn.”

I gasped, a deep sigh of relief at being vindicated, at proving that Caius Cosades was wrong. Now all I had to do was return to Balmora and tell the spymaster what he could do with his job, in loving detail, with diagrams if necessary. And assistance for those things that were physically impossible for one person to do alone. Nibani Maesa’s next words, therefore, were like a dagger in my heart.

This post has been edited by OverrideB1: Aug 22 2005, 07:52 PM