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 wasn’t overly surprised at the conversation I had with Nibani Maesa when I arrived at the Urshilaku camp this morning. “Greetings Sudhendra Vahl,” the Wise-Woman said, offering me a seat and a tisane. “The ancestors were most specific when I spoke with them,” she continued once we were settled. “You, Sudhendra Vahl, have been chosen to follow the path of the incarnate ~ great powers are settling around you, guiding and shaping your destiny. And I, for my part, have been chosen to be your guide on your journey to become the Nerevarine and the ultimate defeat of the Sharmat, Dagoth Ur.”

“But surely that’s a job for a… a hero,” I protested. “Not for somebody like me, an orphaned stranger who’s just trying to make her way in the world?”

“Do you think that heroes are born heroes?” Nibani asked, peering at me through the steam that rose from her mug. “Did Trey of High Rock plan on being a hero when he broke Jager Tharn? Did the Cyrodiil Serene plan on being a hero when she went to Stros M’Kai? When Sel captured the BattleSpire, was it because he was born a hero, or by happenstance? Heroes are not born Sudhendra Vahl; they are forged by their deeds, known by their accomplishments, made heroes by what they achieve ~ not through some accident of birth.

“By accident, or design,” she continued, “you were born under the sign of the Apprentice, the same sign that Indoril Nerevar was born under, nor did you ever know your parents ~ exactly as it was foretold the Reborn would be. By accident, or design, you contracted and were cured of a disease that leaves you immune to all disease and old age ~ exactly as it says in the second of the Seven Visions. Whether you wish it or not, your feet were set on this path long ago. Whether you wish to follow the path to its ultimate conclusion or fall by the wayside is all the choice you have in this matter.”

I argued, I raved, I banged my fist on the table ~ Nibani simply sat and smiled serenely through my outbursts ~ calmly and succinctly answering my questions and dismantling my arguments. When I had finished, she spoke again. “The Third Vision says that the Nerevarine, the Incarnate, will bear the mark of Azura, the Moon-And-Star. I cannot help you in this quest but Sul-Matuul will. Go and speak to him and, when you have completed the Third Trial, you and I shall speak more of that which has to be done.”

“Nibani believes you to be the Incarnate,” Sul-Matuul said when I staggered into his yurt. “Me, I am not so sure. Still, the Wise-Woman wishes that I put you to the Third Trial and that is what I shall do, and I shall keep my own council. Before that, however, you will perform the Warrior’s Test and that will satisfy me that you are, indeed, worthy of the honour Nibani Maesa offers you, for the ways of the Wise-Women are not the way of the Warrior.

“West and south of here lies the ancient fortress of Kogoruhn… I see from your expression that you have knowledge of this place. That is good, for Kogoruhn houses the ancient halls of House Dagoth. You will travel there and return bearing three tokens as evidence. The first is Corprus Weepings, which you will find in abundance given the infestation of Kogoruhn. Secondly, you will bring me a plate or a cup bearing the device of House Dagoth. Finally, you shall bring me the Shadow Shield.”

Sul-Matuul grinned and I felt a twinge of unease. “It may be that two of these tokens are easy to find ~ few travel to Kogoruhn, fewer still return and the ruins have not been disturbed for many years. I, myself, led a troop of warriors there many years ago. We were strong of heart, proud, and we were going to bring death and destruction to the pestilence of House Dagoth. We fled that place like children fleeing from a hungry Alit.”

“If you’re trying to put me off,” I said, licking my lips, “you’re doing a damn’ good job.”

Ignoring my comment, Sul-Matuul continued, “However, the Shadow Shield lies in the tomb of Dagoth Morin, itself hidden amidst the lava tunnels deep beneath Kogoruhn. Bring me these three tokens, prove to me that you are a warrior worthy of being the Nerevarine, and I shall tell you of the Third Trial.”

“Wait,” I gasped as Sul-Matuul stood, “you mean I’ve got to do all that and then the Third Trial?”

“Are you about to say that that isn’t fair?” Sul-Matuul asked. I had been about to say that but the look on Sul-Matuul’s face told me what answer I would get. “Then listen and I shall tell you how to reach Kogoruhn from here.”

With a few additional supplies ~ mostly dried crabmeat and Kwama eggs ~ I set off for Kogoruhn. Sul-Matuul’s directions proved to be excellent, following the narrow canyons that led west from the Urshilaku camp led me to the large open wastes of the northern Molag Amur. Taking my directions from the lodestone, I headed towards Valenvaryon.

I lay atop the dune overlooking the flattened top of Valenvaryon. As I’d scrambled up the opposite slope, I had heard the deep bark of Orcish voices and now lay in the shadow of a large rock, overlooking the crude statue of Malacath that had been raised in the middle of the fort. An Orcish shaman, resplendent in a feathered headdress and long cloak, was howling the syllables of some Orcish chant ~ the spear in his hand spluttering and sparking with the magical discharge.

Sliding back down the far side of the dune, I took the long way around ~ skirting the ancient Resdayni fortress and sticking to the leeward side of the huge ash mounds to minimise my chance of being seen. Of course, my detour meant that I came much closer to the second waypoint than I’d intended. With a bloodcurdling scream, the cultist leapt out from behind a rock and swung a crude axe at me. With a fairly bloodcurdling yell of my own, I dived out of the way, crashing down on the rough, gritty surface and rolling to get some distance.

Sul-Matuul hadn’t discouraged me from carrying a full compliment of weapons, saying that a warrior should always be prepared. The rasp of the Clanbringer sliding from its scabbard was proof that I was well prepared. The cultist, now at a major disadvantage because of the disparity between the lengths of the weapons, took one half-hearted swing at me and then ran screaming for the entrance to the Ebernanit Shrine. Given the importance of what I was doing, following the cultist into the depths of the Daedric ruin would be a foolish move.

However there were other considerations. This desolate area of ash-choked wasteland would make a superb location for a Telvanni tower and the reactions of House Redoran when they woke one morning to discover a Telvanni stronghold overlooking their territory should provide a little amusement. And I could hardly send a new Master here with an inhabited Daedric shrine nearby. I mean, what if they had some powerful relic that he got his hands on?

The obscenely carved oval door ground open and I carefully stepped into the gloomy interior: Clanbringer had been returned to its sheath, now replaced by the smaller, deadlier Nordic twin blades. Directly ahead of me, a long staircase descended deeper into the gloom and I could hear a couple of excited voices echoing up the stairwell. Since stealth was not an option, I cast a small cantrip upon myself ~ a simple warding spell that I had picked up in my travels. I gasped as I felt the life-force thunder into me and grinned, almost intoxicated by the feeling of strength and health that suffused my being. Magically amplifying my voice, I yelled, “Ready or not, here I come!”

The cultist who’d taken a swing at me was at the back of the shrine, frantically struggling into some rather rusty looking steel armour while a robed mage swirled the precursor to a fireball between his hands. Infused with rather more energy and strength than were good for me, I hurled myself from the bottom step ~ twisting to avoid the sputtering sphere of arcane fire that exploded from the mage’s cupped hands. It had been an impressive fireball, compact and sizzling with energy. Which was good since the scything silver blade in my right hand silenced his magic in the simplest manner possible.

As the mage gagged, desperately trying to hold back the flood of blood that gushed from his severed throat, I advanced on the remaining cultist. “Take your time,” I said as he hopped up and down on one foot, desperately attempting to put on the final piece of his armour. The armoured boot slipped into place and, with a yell, he grabbed his sword and shield and spun to face me. This meant that he turned right into the wave of fire that exploded from my hands as I mentally completed the spell I’d been weaving. He screamed pitifully as the steel armour glowed cherry-red, the stench of burning flesh filling the shrine. When I could stand his screams no longer ~ roughly a second after his armour became red hot ~ I stepped in as close as I could and drove the Nordic blade through the malleable steel and deep into his heart.

There were, regrettably, no great and powerful artefacts in Ebernanit ~ although there were several interesting scrolls, a sizeable sum of gold, and a ring bearing the rune of Sanguine. Feeling rather pleased with myself, I left the shrine turned southwards along paths I recognised and made my way towards the steep-sided hollow wherein lurked the darkhold of Kogoruhn. The place hadn’t changed since my last visit here in search of Feril Salmyn ~ there was still the silent desolation behind which lurked a malevolent evil. Now that I knew the place was a Sixth House stronghold, I could understand that strange feeling of being under observation that I’d had the last time I was here. And standing here, staring at the dark stones of the fortress wasn’t going to find me any of the tokens Sul-Matuul wanted.