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 Skaal chainmail, repaired and polished by the blacksmith Kalortod, was ready for me this morning after I broke my fast. As were Chrysamere, the Last Wish, my crossbows, and the matched pair of ornate silver blades ~ all freshly sharpened. Once I was clad appropriately, and armed, I packed my backpack with restorative and curative potions and a selection of deadly spells inscribed on parchment. A bundle of faggots strapped to the underside of the pack completed my preparations and I opened the way to Balmora and stepped through the portal. Setting a brisk, but not punishing pace, I trotted along the road to the Odai Plateau and, skirting the now overgrown ruins of Rethan Manor, I crossed the line of hills and descended into the Bitter Coast.

The road towards Hla Oad, little more than a pathway, eased my passage and I made good time to the small fishing village. To my dismay, all the vessels were out on the water so I had no choice other than to continue on foot up to Gnaar Mok. Despite having to take a rest after fighting off a couple of hungry Guar, I arrived in the Redoran Township not long after the Twelfth Hour. I have to admit, my rest along the way seemed to have done wonders for my stamina, on arriving at the wooden planks that span the marshes around Gnaar Mok I was barely winded, even though I’d picked up the pace a little.

My general demeanour, admirably aided by the profusion of weapons that festooned my glistening armour, was sufficient to overcome any reticence the Redoran guards might have had in speaking to me and I quickly learned that Ilunibi was a cave system on the coast, up near Kartag Point. The guards pointed out the landmark ~ a huge spire of rock ~ on my map and I quickly left the town and headed north.

The door to Ilunibi was on the edge of a noisome slime-pool, and accessing it required wading through the stagnant water or edging around the pool on the narrow margin of crumbly soil. Of course, as a Telvanni, I had a third avenue of approach and I simply used the levitation amulet to float serenely a good foot above the stinking pool until I reached the door. Under the cartouche that identified the caverns, another hand had crudely carved the legend: Carcass of The Saint.

The flickering red candles I could see in the tunnel opposite me, across the deep and water-filled pit, were cause for alarm. I’d know that Ilunibi was a Sixth House base but the reality of it hadn’t sunk in until I saw those. I could just make out a route down into the pit, which was being fed by thundering waterfalls, but the slippery-looking rocks promised that the slightest misstep would result in a great deal of pain. I had taken to keeping a few trinkets in a pouch at my waist, and from there I took out the levitation amulet that Talanian had given me. Focussing my will, I activated the charm and floated down into the pit and to the tunnel entrance.

I soon came to a junction, with tunnels leading off east, west, and south. Since straight ahead was as good a direction as any that was the way I headed. And, my Gods, I wished I hadn’t. I was moving as silently and as carefully as I could, intent on the flickering light that was coming from between two stone pylons that constricted the passageway ahead. From the dancing light and the roseate glow, my guess is that it was a fire. And where there are fires in a Sixth House base, there are usually postulants ~ the naked and half–insane adherents that are new to the cult.

With a cry of disgust that attracted the attention of the naked Dunmeri in the chamber, I drew back my hand and screamed “Na Awyra? Ad 'u anadl ddyfrha.” Instantly, the cavern was lit up with the first threatening flickers of the lightning-storm I’d conjured. Teeth clenched, I fed the construct with magical-energy, watching the thick, roiling clouds grow darker and more chaotic as titanic bolts of lightning arced from the underside of the hovering cloud to slam repeatedly into the cultist. When I was certain that he was dead, I entered the cave and, kicking the remnants of his last meal over to join the pitiful remains of its owner, I cremated the half-eaten remains.

Fuelled by revulsion and hate, I drew the Clanbringer and hefted it carefully until I was once more accustomed to the weight of the heavy sword. I would bring fire and destruction upon these foul creatures and cleanse these caverns of their abominable taint. Such were my thoughts as I stalked back along the passage and turned to the east, all pretence at stealth abandoned in my towering rage.

The blind and faceless ‘zombie’ at the end of the tunnel had no chance. As I drew back its hands to cast, I descended upon it, the Clanbringer already moving in a flat and smooth trajectory as I rushed in to do battle. The heavy Nordic blade tore through the creature in a welter of blood and other, less identifiable, gore. The legs and lower torso, neatly cauterised by the awesome power of the blade, remaining standing for several seconds after the upper torso and head had toppled backwards. The door it had been guarding exploded under the impact of the sword ~ I cared not if it had been locked or trapped, or neither.

I now found myself in an area known as ‘The Tainted Marrow’, facing another irate adherent of this disgusting cult. As he rushed from the niche he used as a home, I dug the point of Clanbringer deep into the loose soil and hurled a fireball at him. He screamed as the flesh melted from his bones, the dancing flames that licked and consumed his threshing form providing enough illumination for me to see the other naked Dunmeri inside the small hollow. They seemed oddly reluctant to attack, but I showed no such restraint, focussing on their fire and turning it into an instrument of death ~ the noxious fumes the spell created causing them to claw at their throats as they threshed and jerked their miserable existence away on the dirt floor where they belonged.

Faint whispered voices echoed through the caverns as I stalked towards the door at the end of the short western passageway. Slamming open the door, I descended into Marowak’s Spine. These dark and gloomy caverns were filled with flitting shadows, and I knew I was drawing closer to the black foulness that corrupted this place. Without deviation, I followed the tunnel straight ahead of me, dealing death by magic to the inhabitants, the filth that infested these caves. There were fewer of the postulants here: as I raged through the caves, hacking and slashing, mystic fire splashing the walls, I found that I was facing more and more of the hideously deformed creatures I knew as ‘Slaves’ and ‘Zombies’. Not that I cared ~ all of them deserved death. And that was what I came with.

Panting, I rested against the cool stone and took stock, my boiling rage leeching away. My travelling robe was tattered and torn, smeared with blood and ichors from the creatures I had decimated to reach this point. Not all the blood that stained me belonged to the dead monstrosities behind me; in my fury I hadn’t noticed the wounds I’d picked up along the way. And the dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes bespoke the fact that I was running on my last few reserves of magical energy. Knowing that there were creatures still behind me that had escaped my wrath ~ I could still hear their whispering voices ~ and even more ahead of me in ‘The Blackened Heart’, I took a few moments to recuperate.

Shedding the robe was the first priority; the stink of sweat and blood that rose from it was nauseating. Not wishing to handle the sodden fabric, I used my boot-dagger to slit the front and simply shrugged it off. Now, with the armour of the Skaal exposed, I dug in my pack for three items. The restorative potions soon did their work, the tiny cuts and deep wounds I’d accumulated itching as flesh knitted itself back together. Simultaneously, the restore magicka potion dealt with the dull ache in my head, replenishing the arcane forces I’d need for what lay ahead. Replenished and restored, I tied back my hair and placed the Nordic helm atop my head.

The Blackened Heart was a labyrinth of tunnels, inhabited by the most distorted and disfigured of the Sixth House cultists. My heart pounded, the bitter tang of fear in my mouth. The creatures seemed unwilling to attack, melting back into the shadows as if under orders not to stay my progress. And that thought terrified me ~ what power ordered these creatures, and why would such a power stay their attacks? There had been no such reticence in the outer tunnels of this diseased place so why was there now? Somehow I had the uncomfortable feeling I was being led, like a Guar to the slaughter, to whatever hideous secret this place held.

‘Soul’s Rattle’ did little to disabuse me of that notion; the reeking caves that opened off the main passageway littered with evidence of recent occupation. From ahead I could hear a faint chanting, a solitary voice that rose and fell, chanting words I couldn’t understand. Following the echoes of the voice, I made my way deeper into the squalid gloom until I came, at last, to a large chamber. This room, a natural hollow in the rocks, was arrayed with the trappings and ornaments of the Sixth House cult. Here, at last, was the corrupted heart of the Ilunibi caverns.

The robed and distorted figure that stepped away from the squat and hideous idol was instantly recognisable. The deformities that had been wrought on the Man/Mer in front of me were identical to the monstrosity I’d faced in Hassour. “Hold,” it said in an oddly whistling voice, “stay thy hand. For thou art come to Ilunibi, the least of our refuges where we may share the sacraments of flesh and blood.”