The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Vehk's Path Options

[OverrideB1]

When I awoke this morning, I was certainly feeling the effects of my fight with Gothren and the Clan Berne. Every single bone in my body seemed to ache and the fatigue I felt screamed in every fibre of my being. Wearily, I opened a portal to Sadrith Mora and translocated to the market square. Llunela took possession of the book eagerly, summoning one of her seemingly inexhaustible supply of messengers to take it to Baladas Demnevanni immediately. “If you’ll pardon me for saying so Sed Vahl,” she said, after examining me for a moment, “but you don’t seem to be very well.”

“It’s been a hard few days,” I responded. “The fight with Gothren wasn’t easy and somebody neglected to mention that Galom Daeus was crawling with vampires.”

She bit her lip and bowed her head, “I beg your forgiveness Arch-Magister,” she said contritely and formally, “I was unaware that vampires had made Galom Daeus their lair.”

“It’s of no consequence Llunela,” I told her firmly, “what is done is done, and there’s no need to make a fuss about it.”

“Thank you Sudhendra,” she said, relief coming off her like steam. “Have you used a large number of healing spells and potions recently?” she suddenly asked. When I confirmed that this was so, she nodded as if in understanding. “I thought as much. Scrolls, potions and spells can only repair so much damage and they consume a lot of the body’s resources to do so. Perhaps a visit to the Imperial Cult shrine up at Wolverine Hall is in order. Or, if you wish to avoid the Imperials, there are a number of very effective healers in Temple.”

“The Temple?” I asked, remembering the large structures in Balmora and Gnisis. “Do you really think that they can help?”

“I’m sure of it Sed Vahl,” she replied. She promised to keep me apprised of the progress on my stronghold while I made preparations to visit the Temple in Balmora.

It was with fairly mixed feelings that I mounted the sweeping stairs that led to the enclosed Balmoran Temple. On the whole, I tended to avoid religious organisations: mostly because the beating that my foster-father administered were so often given in the name of Stendarr, or Mara, to hammer the sin out of me. Don’t get me wrong, the Imperial Cults have done some sterling work but I was leery of them nonetheless. And this… foreign cult that seemed to dominate so much of Vvardenfell? I knew very little of it other than it controlled the Ordinators and wielded a great deal of power.

“Greetings traveller,” the soft voice of a robed and hooded priest sounded strangely harsh in the austere surrounding of the Temple building. Everybody knew about alien religions: the bizarre graven images, the strange behaviour, the wild chanting to unspeakable gods. Aside from a few wall-hangings and a strange circular pit set into the floor, the building was bereft of the trappings I’d expected. Indeed, the Temple was more austere than any Cult building I’d been in: the only oddity a triangular obelisk with engraved images on the front that stood in one corner. “How may we help you?” the priest continued.

I explained my situation in broad terms, leaving out my position as head of Great House Telvanni since I wasn’t certain what frictions might, or might not, exist between House and Temple. I really shouldn’t have bothered ~ I’d forgotten how gossipy the natives of this small island were, and just how quickly news can travel. “Of course we can help Sed Vahl,” the priest responded.

He led me over to the plinth I’d noticed earlier, asking me for a small donation to maintain the Temple. I handed over twenty-five Septims and, following his instructions, placed my hands on the cool stone and repeated his words, “May the blessings of ALMSIVI wash over me. May the strength of their power cleanse and heal me. May the light of their wisdom guide me now and in all things. The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.”

I gasped as a great power flooded into me, almost blinded by the brilliant sparks that swirled around me. I felt the bone-weariness fall away and the ache I’d woken with dissipate and vanish. Dropping my contact with the stone, I looked at the priest and smiled, “That was amazing.”

“Indeed,” the priest said. Then, in that soft accusative tone that priests seem to specialise in when speaking to their wayward flock, he added, “It has been many years since a member of Great House Telvanni saw fit to grace the Temple with their presence.” Pushing back the cowl of his robe to reveal a strong and handsome face, he added, “Their absence has often been noted by Temple hierarchy and commented upon. The poor grace with which missionaries are greeted in Telvanni lands, and the dearth of established Temples are also well known to us.”

Feeling as though I’d just stepped onto a very dangerous ledge, I said, “While I have the authority, I don’t have the power to compel my fellow Mage-Lords to do things they don’t wish to.”

“This is well known to us Sed Vahl,” he said softly, “we may be insular, but we are aware of Telvanni ways ~ even here in Balmora. That you are a stranger in a strange land and don’t know of our ways is also known to us. That Telvanni mores keep you doubly ignorant grieves us bitterly.”

“So, what would you suggest?” I asked.

“That you join the Temple,” he said simply, “openly and freely.”

“Um, what would that entail?” I asked, visions of being ordered to relinquish my hard-won position in Great House Telvanni floating through my mind.

“Nothing as drastic as giving up your current position Arch-Magister,” the priest said, causing me to shoot him a dark look. “A guess at your thoughts only,” he quickly assured me, reading my look as plainly as a book. “The duties would not be onerous,” he continued, “save that you would be required to undertake some pilgrimages to demonstrate your devotion, and some small tasks to demonstrate your piety. Such things, done without any surety of reward, would make a powerful statement from one in your position.”

And that is how I came to join the local Temple, guided by the subtle hand of that Power which had taken such interest in my dealings of late. Although that fact was not revealed to me until much, much later.

Feldrelo Sadri gave me a book entitled “The Pilgrim’s Path”. “It is the duty of all novices to complete the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces,” he informed me, the capitals dropping almost audibly into place. “By following in the steps of the Lord Vehk, they demonstrate their devotion to the Temple and to the grace of ALMSIVI. When you have completed the pilgrimage, I will assess you and give you further tasks. Or, if you wish, you can visit Temples elsewhere on Vvardenfell and undertake duties for them.”

Bowing low, Feldrelo Sadri went deeper into the recess of the Temple, leaving me with a book and a pilgrimage to undertake. The book contained details of each of the seven shrines a novitiate needed to visit, along with details of what was required at each of the locations. Some, such as the shrine at the Fields of Kummu, had long and detailed descriptions ~ others, such as something called the Puzzle Shrine, had only the vaguest of instructions for getting to them and no detail at all about what was expected. One, called the Shrine of Red Mountain, was wreathed around with dire warnings about what dangers could be expected there.

Feeling that there was no time like the present, and being only a short distance from the first shrine detailed in the book, I caught the silt-strider to Suran: spending the time reading and re-reading the Pilgrim’s Path. One thing I knew for certain, the cowled, woollen robe I’d been given would take some getting used to after so long wearing fine clothing. Fortunately, the robe was big enough to fit over my armour, although Feldrelo Sadri had disapproved of me keeping it on. Which just went to show how little he really knew of Telvanni ways: the armour and the envenomed blade beneath my pillow were the only things between me and an ‘unfortunate, accidental stab in the dark.’ I’d also insisted on keeping the blade and axe with me, preferring to rely on them rather than the stout wooden staff I’d been given along with the robe.

As I crossed the bridge over the Nabia on my way towards the Fields of Kummu, I realised that the stout staff made an excellent walking aid. The road wended its way through the pleasant Ascadian countryside, the air redolent with the smell of late blooming flowers and the crisp tang of winter’s onset. It wasn’t too long before I’d arrived at the small triangular plinth that marked the shrine. Having had the foresight to purchase a small packet of Muck from the alchemist in Suran, I placed the glutinous substance in the bowl provided and read the stanza engraved on the shrine.

Grace of Humility: "Thank you for your humility, Lord Vivec. I shall neither strut nor preen in vanity, but shall know and give thanks for my place in the greater world."

According to the Pilgrim’s Path, the next nearest shrines (three of them) are to be found in Vivec City. Accordingly, I shall make those my next priority. I returned to Balmora and sought shelter in the Temple, figuring that if the Camonna Tong wished to wreak bloody vengeance on me, the fact I was on hallowed ground might give them pause.

[OverrideB1]

The amulet pulsed warmly against my chest as the spell I’d woven using it collapsed. Even as the world wavered and returned to normal, I was pushing away from the wall and raising my sword. Skorvild was ready for me, he’d known from the moment that the trapdoor crashed open that someone was in his tower uninvited and his finely honed abilities had sensed the aura of the amulet’s power. “Adficio volo,” he yelled, extending a hand. The air in front of me thickened and hardened, making me feel as though I was rushing through a water-filled chamber. The necromancer was a blur as he drew a dagger from the folds of his robe and sped towards me.

“Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata,” I managed to gasp. Metal ground on metal as my summoned creature span its material form from the very walls of the building. As Skorvild turned to deal with this new threat, I felt the world miss a beat and then everything returned to normal speed.

“Tempestas Tectum,” the necromancer screamed as huge bolts of raw energy formed between the Storm Atronach’s fists. A flickering bubble of light enclosed him, and the thunderous energy sloughed off it like water off a stone. Even as he raised his hands to call forth a new spell, I stepped forward and grasped his arm ~ the bubble of light not hindering me in the slightest.

“Vomica cruor,” I said in a commanding tone. The Man’s eyes widened, and then he screamed as the raw power of the spell ripped into him. He managed to gasp the opening syllables of a counter-spell; something designed to halt the fire that was eating him from the inside out. I put paid to that by driving the ebon blade of my Ebony broadsword into his chest. Blood gushed from his lips and, uttering a moan ~ the last sound he would ever make ~ he pitched forwards.

I stood there, shaken to the core. I had thought I was a puissant Mage, yet here was a timely reminder that there were others out there who were much more experienced in the arcane arts than I was. Not for the first time, I resolved that I should do something about that.

My exploration of Skorvild’s tower turned up a couple of interesting books, some of the more difficult to obtain and expensive alchemical ingredients, and the heavy Daedric dagger that he’d intended to use on me. I also found several scrolls and a large round box. Opening the lid, I looked down into the silvery, smiling face of a full-head helm. The power of the item screamed at me ~ a constant humming of atonal chords that denote an item of superior magic. The moustachioed face, with its wide eyes and smiling mouth struck me as vaguely familiar. As I reached down and lifted the helmet from its box, the features rippled and changed ~ transforming themselves into the smiling happy face of a Dunmeri female. That’s when I realised: the features it now wore were a fuller, more idealised version of my face! And the former features? Those had been of a much younger Skorvild.

I fetched a deep breath as I set the helm on the table and gazed into the face it now wore. There was only one item that had this sort of power: the legend of the Masque of Clavicus Vile was known throughout the Empire. The helm, or Masque as it was called, was reputed to make the wearer instantly likeable, wildly desirable, and fantastically popular. Someone who could tap into the power of the Masque could, it was said, command armies. But there was a dark side to this tale ~ those who couldn’t master the Masque of Clavicus Vile were driven insane by its power, even in their despair unable to remove it and condemned to forever be the object of worship of any who met them. Not that someone in those straights would last long ~ unable to remove the Masque, the wearer would soon starve to death.

Not wishing to test the veracity of the tales, I returned the Masque to its storage box: this I securely lashed to the bottom of my pack. The artefact was obviously of great value to a collector and ~ should I ever meet such a creature ~ I was certain to get a good price for the item. Somewhat burdened by the now heavy pack, I left the tower and continued on my way south. I hadn’t gone too far when I came to the entrance to the Senim Ancestral Tomb.

Inside the tomb I found the usual assortment of reanimated skeletons, none of which presented me with a problem. I also found the skeletal remains of someone who rejoiced in the name of Pop Jé when he was alive. Around the mummified neck hung a small ruby-coloured pendant, one of the withered hands bore a ring that sang a sweet note of power. There were a number of scrolls arranged around the corpse, making me think that this Pop Jé had been some sort of Mage. Of all of the scrolls, the apprentice scroll that taught the spell ‘Fire-Guard’ was the only one I took. Leaving the amulet around the corpse’s neck, I carefully removed the ring from the finger. The large purple stone that was set into the white gold of the ring was unknown to me, as was the meaning of the word ‘PHYNASTER’ that embellished the band of the ring. What I did know was that the ring was powerful, and careful probing revealed that it provided some measure of protection against spells, poison, and fire.

It would be nice, I thought as I battered away at another squawking vermin, if I could find a ring that provided some measure of protection against Cliff Racers. I had thought that my last visit to this region had thinned the ranks of these flapping rodents but, it seems, they had grown even more numerous. Having suffered the beaks and claws of outrageously frequent attacks, it was with some relief that I stumbled up the path to a Dwemer ruin. The runes on the door identified it as ‘NCHARDAHRK’ and, once I had cleared out the Spider-Demon Type I animalcules, it made a more than acceptable place to spend the night.