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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I had every intention of travelling up to the Urshilaku Camp today: a brisk walk through the eastern Molag Amur and up into the Grazelands. From there up to Vos and around the coast to the Urshilaku Camp ~ camping overnight if necessary. I figured that following this route would make it harder for my enemies to track me down. Of course, that was before I reached Yansirramus, a Daedric Shrine.

Deciding, on a whim, to explore the ruins, I quickly found myself embroiled in combat with a couple of Breton mages. Dealing with them wasn’t too hard ~ in fact, it’s a measure of my growing prowess that I barely broke a sweat whilst dealing with the two of them. The shrine was empty of anything of value save the few cheap trinkets the mages carried and, other than the glowering statue of Molag Bal, seemed a fairly safe place to get a little rest. The fight with the mages had made me feel oddly tired, despite the fact that I hadn’t had to expend much energy in dealing with them.

“Mortal, hear my words,” the white-robed figure said, “I am sore vexed.” In that odd way that you always seem to know, the flood of fear that washed over me at these words told me that this was nothing more than a dream. “Be not afraid,” the figure continued, turning to face me. As it stepped closer I realised just how massive this figure was, “for ‘tis not thee that has angered me. ‘Tis mine Minion, Menta-Na. He hath grown lazy and complacent and no longer does my bidding. I charge thee, mortal, to teach Menta-Na the error of his ways. Go thou now to his dungeon in Kora-Dur and send his shrivelled soul screaming to the Nether Wastes where I may further instruct him in the error of his way.”

I woke with a start, blinking at my surroundings. Grumbling, I picked up my pack and went towards the entrance. “Do not forget, Mortal,” the statue of Molag Bal said in a thunderous voice, “Go now to Kora-Dur ~ lest my wrath fall upon thee instead of Menta-Na.”

Needless to say, I left Yansirramus at some speed, the voice of the Daedric Prince echoing in my ears. I had no idea where this Kora-Dur place was, Molag Bal hadn’t said and I sure as Oblivion wasn’t going to ask. I was beginning to rue the day I’d read that accursed book, Daedric Shrines of Importance. It seems that, ever since I first took it from Batou’s hiding place, the Daedric Princes can address me at will.

As I pondered this, I came to a small bay where the Grazelands and the Molag Amur came close together. There, amidst the growths of Muck, was a door: the cartouche read “NAMMU”. I was intrigued by this since, as far as I understood the local language, Nammu meant No-Name or Nameless. A nameless cavern in the middle of nowhere ~ my curiosity was aroused.

My entrance into the caverns aroused one of the guards, a Redguard clad in steel armour. We glared at each other, then he launched his attack ~ a pity, then, that the fireball that engulfed him spoiled his little game. There were others within this nameless cavern and, I’m sad to say, that not a one of them was pleased to see me. These were little more than minions though, what the legion callously refers to as Magic-Fodder. The well dressed battle-mage who launched a ferocious attack on me from the wooden platform was a different matter.

With a cry of “eep”, I dived for cover as a fusillade of thunderous detonations echoed around the cavern. Fireball after fireball slammed into the pylon of rock that was providing my shelter and, I swear, I could feel the aeons-old stone groaning under the impact. As soon as the barrage stopped, I snapped a hand around the cover and fired off a few fireballs of my own. I wasn’t hoping to hit anything; I just wanted to provide a little covering fire while I moved. Having got into position, I quickly withdrew my hand ~ and not a moment too soon, the salvo of fireballs that slammed into the rocky spire I was hiding behind made the previous onslaught look like a few parlour-tricks.

Not that I cared: I now had access to my pack and, much more importantly, the wooden scroll case that was inside. Quickly sorting through the scraps of rolled parchment, I came upon the one I wanted. As the fireballs started to slow, I spoke the words on the scroll I had selected: Fi Angen Ben Blaen Llong. Instantly, the scroll was replaced with a shimmering and ethereal longbow. Knocking an arrow, I stepped from cover as the last fireball blew tiny shards from the rock, aiming and firing in one smooth movement. It was a beautiful shot, one I probably couldn’t repeat: the steel arrow flew straight and true ~ punching a bloody hole in the mage’s chest, the impetus of the blow driving him back against the balustrade where he teetered for several seconds.

As the corpse of the Battle-Mage splashed into the water far below, I heard a voice singing. Scrambling up the ladder to the platform that surrounded the central rock, I came face to face with a Redguard. “Greetings yabancı,” he said, pleasantly enough. “I don’t think Galmis Dren will be happy to see you here.”

“Galmis Dren?” I said, “Dunmeri, long black beard, about this high?” The Redguard nodded. “Well, he’s currently feeding the fishes, if there are any down there,” I said, looking over the railing at the water far below.

The Redguard grinned, holding up manacled hands, “that’s good news my friend, for I feared that you would end up like me. I had the misfortune to enter these cave ~ Dren stripped me of everything valuable and chained me here ~ I suspect he was looking for ransom.

“Tell me,” the pleasantly smiling Man continued, “do you happen to have a scroll of Divine Intervention that I could borrow?” Opening my pack, I fetched out the dark-wood case and drew out one of the Divine Intervention scrolls that Caius had given me. The man smiled as I held the scroll out to him. “That is most kind yabancı, allow me to give you these small tokens of Jon Hawker’s gratitude. May the Nine smile upon you and all that you do.”

I looked at the well-made red gloves the stranger had given me before he had used the scroll to escape from this cave. They were of exceptionally high quality, with delicate designs worked into the deep red leather. And that was not all, each of the gloves sang with a pure magical tone, indicating that they possessed some very high-grade enchantments. Which was very, very odd: if Galmis Dren had stripped Jon Hawker of everything of value, how had the Redguard kept a hold of these gloves?

The loss of the Divine Intervention scroll was more than offset by the treasures I found in Nammu. I found a large number of swords, including some blades that already had long tales wrapped around their history: The Blade of Doom, Dragon-Slayer, and The Elven Master Sword. In addition, I also found an Apprentice scroll, an Ioun Jaga-stone, and a whole pile of Divine Intervention scrolls. Rather bemused by this turn of events, I left the cavern and continued north, stopping at nightfall to set up my tent.