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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As the youth raced for the entrance, I turned and faced the Corprus creature that had entered this chamber. Tall and pale-skinned, it bore no trace of the usual deformities that afflicted those infected with Corprus ~ although the skin was covered with rough, flaky spots, indicating that the disease was well advanced. It was impossible to tell whether this had been man or Mer, the whole of the being’s head was encased in a strange red mask. Bland, undistinguished features covered the face while a wide rim surrounded the head. “What, exactly, are you?” I asked.

“Death,” the figure hissed, raising its hands. I saw the formation of the spell, motes of arcane energy forming between the outstretched fingers and was moving ~ diving to the side ~ even as the spell was cast. The black sphere of magical energy slapped into the rock where I’d been standing, and then exploded with massive force. Blinking, I saw the figure turn towards me, more dark energy sparkling between its hands.

“Want to play, eh?” I said, wiping the blood from my face as I rose to my feet. Leaving the Paladin’s Blade where it had fallen, I extended a hand in the direction of the masked figure and said, “chan annwfn s fferedig asgre.”

The spell ripped the fine dust from the floor of the cave, whipping it into a swirling column of lambent energy as the focused spell made the temperature in the chamber drop. I gasped, feeling the heat being leeched from my body as the air thickened, a thin sheen of ice forming on the cave walls. Cutting off the magicka-flow, I allowed the spell to dissipate before it reached full power. There was a something glimmering in the midst of the still swirling dust.

“Death,” the masked figure intoned, stepping out of the now settling dust ~ the faint shimmer of an arcane shielding spell surrounding its body. Stooping, I grabbed Chrysamere and swung. There was a flicker of light as the blade bisected the field, and then the blade bit deep into the figure’s right arm. With a hiss, the creature jerked away ~ thin, reddish fluid leaking from the deep wound. “Alright,” I said, hefting the sword and squaring up to the figure. The creature seemed to be immune to magic but the bite of a physical weapon unnerved it. “Let’s dance,” I suggested, slicing the blade in a crosscut.

The masked figure howled as the blade sliced a furrow across its chest, more of the reddish fluid oozing out of the wound. I gasped, feeling the bite of Chrysamere’s magic as the creature’s innate reflection abilities deflected some of the magic. Deadly though the Paladin Blade was, under these circumstances it was likely to be deadlier by far to me than to my enemy. Stabbing out with the blade, I made the masked creature dance backwards a step or two ~ giving myself a narrow margin of time where I could drop the Chrysamere and draw the twin silver blades.

The creature watched the spinning, whirling blades as I spun them quickly, then it lunged forwards ~ clawed hands aflame with magical energy as it sought to grapple with me. Quickly I danced back out of it’s reach, the flat of the left-hand blade deflecting one clutching hand while the right-hand blade whickered through the air, neatly severing a couple of fingers from the creature’s right hand. The creature pulled back and made an odd howling sound before hissing an alien phrase.

Black fire engulfed me, a stinging reminder of Ilunibi. But the agonising pain failed to materialise and I laughed in the creature’s face as realisation hit me. “You can’t give me Corprus,” I sang, slashing a thin line across the creature’s extended palms, “I’ve already got it!”

Exultation goes before a fall, they say. If I ever meet ‘them’ I’ll have to thank them for stating the obvious. My gleeful response enraged the being and it lashed out with a spell. I screamed, feeling the bones of my body bending unnaturally as the powerful cantrip tore at me. There was a snapping sound and a flare of exquisite agony ~ the silver blade dropping from a suddenly useless left hand. Crushing down the desire to sag against the wall and howl in misery, I snapped a heel-kick at the creature’s knee as it advanced, feeling the strange cartilage creak under the force of the blow.

Gripping the hilt of my one remaining blade, I stepped close as the creature let out a howl and drove my bunched fist repeatedly into the juncture between the mask and the naked torso. Again and again I drove my bunched fist into the creature’s throat, ignoring the claws that tore and ripped at my flesh. Wheezing, the creature stepped back: giving me exactly the opening I required. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I drove the silver blade upward, catching the creature just below the breastbone. There was a crunching sound as the mutated cartilage-like bone split across the razor-sharp edge of the Nordic blade, the creature making an odd whooping sound as it’s steaming guts poured out and splashed onto the hard rock floor.

As it tried to stuff it’s innards back into the oozing cavern of it’s body, I slashed the blade across, severing the jugular and releasing a flood of thin red ichors. Its hold on the Mundus gone, the soulless creature screamed and collapsed in a shower of blackened bone and grey, ash-like flakes. And not a moment too soon: with a scream of my own, I slumped back against the rock of the cave wall, sobbing as broken bone grated on broken bone. With trembling fingers, I pulled a silvery flask from my pack and drank deeply.

“Gods Burning,” Hassour exclaimed as I staggered from the cave-mouth, slightly light-headed from the effects of the healing potion, “what in Oblivion’s name was that thing?”

“I have no idea,” I said truthfully, dropping the powerfully magical ring I’d taken from amidst the ashes into my pouch, “some servant of Dagoth Ur I guess.”

“Then the old tales are true,” he said, sitting heavily on a nearby mattock of grass. “I thought them but tales my father told to scare me when I was younger. Is it…”

“Dead?” I finished for him. “I sincerely hope so,” I added. “Listen, your father is at the Ald Skar Inn in Ald’ruhn and I think he’d really, really like to see you about now.”

“Then that is where I am headed,” Hassour said. “Mamaea, unfortunately, proved to have too many dangers for me to gather much by way of profitable resources. However, should you be back in Ald’ruhn, I am sure my father will wish to pay his respects.”

We parted amicably and I returned to Tel Vahl for the night ~ I didn’t particularly want to repeatedly use the same lodgings night after night. Call me paranoid if you like but, as any Telvanni will tell you, you’re not paranoid if they really are out to get you. And I was rapidly acquiring an impressive set of people who wouldn’t shed a tear if I were to die suddenly ~ the other Great Houses, the Mages Guild, the Camonna Tong, the Dark Brotherhood, Dagoth Ur, Duke Vedam Dren, the would-be King Helseth… They say you can judge someone by the worth of their enemies. On that basis I must be worth a fortune.