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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The spell exploded in the darkness of the chamber, its violet light clearly outlining the figure of the long-dead magician as it drained the magicka from it. As the robe collapsed in on itself, there was a faint tinkling sound as a simple silver band dropped to the floor. Nor was the now vacant robe the only thing sagging, the spell had been remarkably complex to cast and had left me with the thumping headache that is the result of running your magicka reserves almost completely dry. With a sigh I drained the restore magicka potion I’d taken from my backpack and dropped the silver-wrapped phial back inside, ready to be refilled.

The silver band proved to be a circlet of the kind worn by nobles long ago: it’s heavily tarnished surface some indication of the length of time it had encircled that bony globe. The tattered black robe had a greasy, unpleasant feel and I quickly dropped it before scrubbing my hand against the cloth of my own robe. Shuddering, I took careful stock of my position ~ I had a shuttered lantern (unlit) hanging from my pack along with a few simple torches. Several carefully wrapped restorative potions nestled in my pack along with a selection of darts and poisons. Added to this was the mass of the Last Wish atop the pack and the reassuring weights of Grafanc and Hysgithr at my waist. Slung over my shoulder was the Guar-leather quiver, loaded down with a goodly number of arrows.

All very well and good, except that the Lesser Lich that had prowled this chamber wasn’t alone. A fact that became very apparent as I rounded the corner of the tunnel that led out of the room and came face to face with a grinning visage. I back-pedalled rapidly as the Lich raised its hands and hurled an impressively glowing globe of spitting energy at me. Some fancy footwork prevented me from meeting an ignoble end at that moment and I dived for cover behind the central pillar as a second bolt of energy hurled itself towards me. As the report of its explosion echoed around the chamber, I realised I was getting pretty sick and fed up of hiding behind bits of scenery. Time, I thought, to go on the offensive.

“A ddyhea-cama at gwna 'm caseion alaetha!” I intoned, rising to my feet. Instantly there was a sensation of weight in my outstretched right hand as, amidst a storm of swirling yellow motes, a massive great-bow took shape. Reaching into the quiver, I selected one of the heavy black-tipped arrows I’d found on Solstheim. Knocking the heavy arrow in the strangely-patterned Daedric bow, I took a deep breath and stepped from cover as another thunderous explosion shook the chamber, drawing back on the bowstring as I did so. Exhale ~ and…. Fire. The ebony-tipped arrow made a peculiar screaming noise as it tore through the air and punched through the robe of the Lich.

Grinning ~ for it could do nothing else ~ the Lich reached down and grasped the arrow… just as the intricate spell woven into that ebon arrowhead discharged. Imagine one of the Ehlnofey coughing, and then magnify that sound a million fold. For a wonder, the spell did not bring down the roof of the cavern, nor bring this tale to a premature ending. It certainly made very short work of the Lich, the outcropping of rock upon which it had been standing and introduced me to the wonders of a short, horizontal and decidedly unmagic flight.

How long I lay crumpled at the foot of the wall which had interrupted that experience, I cannot say. What I can say is that I very carefully took the four remaining ebony-tipped arrows from the quiver and examined them with great care. They had struck me as being wholly unmagical and, probe as hard as I might ~ in truth not as hard as I could for fear of triggering that spell with me in closer proximity ~ I could detect no trace of magic within them. I was tempted to leave them there but the fear that some other adventurer might come this way and discover them prompted me to return them to the quiver.

The caverns surrounding the chamber I was in were labyrinthine, winding round and about each other in a confusing maze. I realised this, quite quickly, when my travels brought me to a ruined wall that I could have sworn I’d passed before. The mark I’d left on my second visit was still there on the third and fourth visits. I was beginning to despair when I realised that the lower chamber had an exit I’d overlooked ~ a narrow crack at the back of a long fry fountain. This narrow passageway led to a chamber, in the centre of which was a Lich.

No lesser creature of magic this, this Lich was a creature of age and power. Its raiment may have been tattered and rotting, but the decaying Cyrodiilic silk was of high quality and the coldly glowing crown atop that bony brow left me in no doubt that I faced a being of great age. “Barilzar I presume?” I said, bowing low while keeping a careful eye on the Lich.

In a voice like the dust of ages, a voice that made my skin crawl, the Lich replied, “Verily that is how I be called. Why doest thou mine domain disturb?”

“I seek a ring, the least little thing,” I stated, “called The Mazed Band.”

“NEVER!” the Lich roared, “never that shall I relinquish, for it hath great power.”

“Then we have a problem my lord,” I responded, dropping my hands to the hilts of my swords while I hurriedly began constructing the counter-magic spell in my mind. “For I am instructed by the Goddess Almalexia to recover it at all costs.”

“Thou hast a problem, mortal,” the Lich said, reaching out and clasping a darkly glowing staff. “The whims of the witch-queen to me matter not.”

“Narro Haud Magis Veneficus!” I spat, feeding the spell as much arcane power as I dared. To my horror the swirling green light of the spell failed to envelope Barilzar ~ instead seeming to be absorbed by the staff he carried. Some slight edge of the cantrip seemed to get through, yellowish bone took on a darker hue and the garments seemed to rot and decay a little more. But it was far too little to destroy the Elder Lich and, with a dusty roar, he swung the staff at me ~ forcing me to dance backwards as I quickly drew Grafanc and Hysgithr.

I had no idea how long the spell I’d cast would prevent Barilzar from casting and the reach and heft of the heavy staff made it difficult for me to get close enough to him to do damage. In addition, despite my speed and prowess with the twin Nordic blades, those few blows that did get through did very little harm to the Lich. To add to my consternation, the vindictive spells woven into the blades only served to fuel Barilzar further, making the magical being nimbler and stronger.

Quickly disengaging, I let Grafanc and Hysgithr fall to the floor while I grabbed The Last Wish from its strap on my pack. The heavy Dwemer blade made a satisfying thrumming noise as it cleaved the air, the golden-coloured blade clanging against the heavy staff and knocking it aside. Barilzar’s eye-sockets flared with a dark light as I swung the Dwemer axe, and his attacks became more cautious.

The staff whipped across, the heavy end slamming into me and making me stagger. As I struggled for balance, the dark staff sliced my feet from under me, sending me crashing to the floor. Looming over me, the Lich raised the staff like a spear and prepared to plunge it into me. Desperately I swung the Last Wish, the wickedly curved blade slamming into the Lich’s right thighbone. There was a sharp cracking sound and Barilzar staggered the tip of the staff striking sparks from the rock as the now unaimed tip slammed down next to my ear.

Bleeding from where the stone chips had cut me, I drew my left foot up and kicked the Lich in the midsection as hard as I could. Even though there was no accompanying crack of breaking bone, the force was enough to make Barilzar stagger backwards. A protruding rock, slightly above knee-height, pitched the crowned skeleton over as I scrambled to my feet. Light flared in its sockets as I stood over it, axe raised. “Oh bugg…” the Lich boomed as the axe descended, cracking the fragile cranium like a Kwama egg.

As the creature’s tenuous hold on the Mundus faded, the clothes rotted almost instantly to mush and the gold of the crown took on the tarnish of untold ages. There was a flare of light from the now relaxed right hand as the ebon staff fizzled and sparked. Bending down, I grabbed it and found that it was no more than a simple rod of age-blackened iron: whatever magical powers it had possessed had obviously come from Barilzar rather than some enchantment woven into the staff. Of more interest was the gleam of gold around the skeleton’s left ring-finger.

The ring I took from the Lich Barilzar seemed unremarkable ~ a plain band of gold with no stones or decorative work. I probed it carefully and, finding no enchantment upon it, scanned it fully. Despite my best efforts, the ring remained exactly what it appeared to be: a plain band of age-tarnished gold. There wasn’t even the faint echo of expended magic from the ring. Puzzled by this, for it had been described as a puissant artefact, I returned to the Temple and presented the ring to Fedris Hler.

“This is it?” he asked, obviously as puzzled as I had been. “Gavas would like a word with you. Please,” he handed the ring back to me, “take this with you.”

I made my way up to the offices of Gavas Drin where he was waiting for me, seated behind his desk and looking somewhat annoyed. “Fine,” he said, most ungraciously when I told him I had the Mazed Band. “It is to be presented to the Lady Ayem immediately. You will find the door to the High Chapel unlocked.”

This post has been edited by OverrideB1: Sep 29 2005, 07:09 PM