The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Vehk's Path Options

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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.

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The ruins hadn’t proven to be the ideal resting place that I’d hoped. Throughout the night the thin groaning of ancient stone pressing down on ancient stone had repeatedly and frequently awoken me. Not exactly conductive to a good night’s sleep. There was one gleam of light to the day ~ the skies above were clear of Cliff Racers. Thick with heavy cloud, but no Cliff Racers.

After a hasty breakfast, I gathered my things and headed southwards once more. I had barely been travelling for an hour when the heavens above opened and the rain came down in torrents. Pulling up my hood, I bent under the weight of the pack and pressed on. It was a relief when I came to the mouth of a deep cave ~ according to the locator stone they were the Surirulk Caves. There were bandits in the cave but I soon dealt with them. Exploring the cavern revealed a veritable trove of treasures, I gathered them together and took them to the mouth of the cave so I could examine them.

I’d separated the items into two piles by the time the rains slowed and stopped, thin golden sunlight breaking through the dark clouds. One pile of items were the things I didn’t need ~ cheap Chitin daggers, common clothing, Skooma, that sort of thing. The other pile, much smaller, contained items I didn’t want to leave behind: a small jar of toxin, a shard bracer, some arrow-heads forged of silver, a pale teal Ioun stone, a magical Thread, and a small and beautifully cut Tourmaline. Packing these things into my increasingly difficult to carry pack, I headed out into the sunshine. The steep path led to the crest of a ridge and there, in the deep shadowed valley below, was the huge bulk of an ancient Fort.

Consulting my map, I determined that there was a small island just to the west, over the ridge by the Fort ress. Levitating over them and the small stretch of water, I soon arrived at the island. The crude wooden hut and small fire were clear indicators that the island was inhabited.

Sendas Sathis was delighted to see me, talking at a rapid clip as he escorted me to his fire. Gratefully accepting the sack I’d carried so far, he looked inside. “Hmmm,” he said, “Kwama eggs and Matze, no surprises there. Oh, and some Scrib-Jerky, just to add some variety.” Leaving him muttering into his beard, I spoke the words and returned to the Temple at Ghostgate.

I left the void and stepped right into the teeth of a terrific dust storm. Coughing and spitting, I rushed into the Tower of Dusk and slammed the door shut behind me. Uvoo was pleased that I’d delivered the food to Sathis and promoted me to the rank of Curate. My pleasure at this unexpected turn of events was quickly tempered by her words.

“Serjo Feril Salmyn hasn’t returned to us,” she said with a worried frown on her face. “He was due back almost a week ago. I want you to go and look for him.”
“Where should I start?” I asked.

“Salmyn was searching for a lost Resdayni Fort known as Kogoruhn,” she said. “He took with him a sacred relic of the Temple: the Hair-Shirt of Saint Aralor. It is important that you find him, dead or alive, and return the relic to us. If he’s still alive, you must persuade him to abandon his quest and return to us. If he’s dead, you must recover the relic and bring it back.”

“Do we have any idea where this Kogoruhn place is?” I asked.

She shook her head, “the only thing I know is that he spoke to the Inn-Keeper in the Tower of Dawn.”

The Innkeeper, Galore Salvi, remembered speaking to Feril Salmyn and told me the same as she’d told him. “I don’t know exactly where it is, Sed Vahl. However, as I told the Ordinator, I have heard that it is somewhere near Maar Gan.”

Since the storm was still howling outside and I didn’t fancy wandering around looking for some ancient Fort in such disgusting weather, I translocated to Balmora and sorted through the items in the house there, and the items in my pack. Having separated out the things I thought I’d need to carry on a regular basis from those I was just lugging about, I loaded several sacks and transferred the spare items to the Battle-Spire. It took several trips, and I was exhausted when I’d finished.