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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So that was it, I thought as I walked to the plain wooden door that would lead me into the High Chapel. Gavas was out of sorts because he had wanted to present the ring ~ instead that task had fallen to me. And I wasn’t too sure how I felt about it…

I had been brought up a Stendarrite, not through choice but because the people who’d adopted me had followed Stendarr. As a young child I was exactly as devout as I needed to be to avoid getting into trouble with my ‘parents’. For the first couple of years after my departure, religion was the last thing on my mind and, to be honest, I’d pretty much fallen out of the habit of attending whichever Cult Shrine happened to be close by. Then I’d come to Morrowind Province and come into contact with my House.

There I had been exposed to the old ways, the worship of the Daedric Princes. Not in the wide-eyed insane manner of the cultists who infested many of the ruined Daedric Shrines ~ although that was debatable in Therana’s case ~ but in a quiet, personal way. The fleeting contacts I’d had with these alien avatars of power had affected me deeply ~ in a childhood of quiet devotion no single Divine had ever made its presence known to me in the manner Sheogoraph, Azura, and Malacath had.

Then there was my time with the Temple, the quietly devout zealots who worshipped the Tribunal. From these people I had absorbed a deep sense of awe concerning Vehk, Seht, and Ayem. It was difficult for me to reconcile the attraction I felt towards the worship of the Daedric Princes with the profound sense of awe I got from contemplating living gods that moved among the people. And now, beyond the door that stood in front of me, was one of these gods, a living, breathing entity with powers beyond anything I could imagine.

Trembling, I opened the door and stepped into the High Chapel. Guards stood around the walls, Her Hands arrayed in their full glory. In the centre of the circular chamber was a raised platform, bounded by pillars of Gold, Adamantium, Silver, and Ebony. The chequered pattern decorating the floor of the dais was comprised of rare stones and delicate scents drifted from the braziers burning at the foot of the four pillars. High overhead, the roof of the chamber gleamed with the muted and unmistakable glister of pure gold reflecting the fires beneath.

Yet all of these glories faded into insignificance before the slender feminine form that floated above the dais. Her skin was golden ~ not the yellowish gold of the Altmeri but the burnished metallic glow of pure gold. Tresses of thick black hair cascaded around the naked shoulders, partially obscuring the swirling tattoos that covered the woman’s arms. Her chest was uncovered but she wore a tabard around her waist identical to those worn by her Ordinators. Bangles and bracelets clinked softly around her wrists and ankles as she lowered her arms and raised her head, sinking slowly to the floor.

I gasped, taking a step back as those eyes ~ black as midnight ~ turned on me and the corners of the mouth turned up in a faint but welcoming smile. The eyes, black, on black, on black, regarded me coolly and I could see the power of the female warrior-god crackling in the ebon depths of that regard. Dumb-founded, I held my hand out with the Mazed Band sitting on the palm. The smile grew warmer and the ring floated from my hand and swooped across the room to drop into Almalexia’s outstretched hand.

“DRAW CLOSE,” a soft chorus of voices sang, “FOR I WOULD REWARD THEE FOR THY VALOUR.” I blinked, moving towards the figure of the Goddess without volition on my part. Ayem inclined her head, speaking without moving her lips, that soft chorus of voices speaking for her, “YOUR PART IN THE RECOVERY OF THE MAZED BAND IS KNOWN TO ME MY CHILD, AND FOR THAT I THANK AND REWARD THEE...” as she spoke these words, I felt a strange sensation: the sort of all-over tingle you get when you have been out in the sun for a long while, “…I SHALL HAVE FURTHER TASKS FOR THEE ANON.”

I stumbled from the High Chapel in a daze, awed by the sheer power of the Goddess Almalexia. My state might explain why I almost stepped into the Healer Nerile Andaren as she hurried along the hall. Fortunately, she understood my slightly bedazzled state and was quite forgiving ~ although she did repeat her request that I deliver some potion.

“Of course,” I replied, “where do I need to take it?”

“To Geon Auline,” she replied, “He has a small place in Godsreach.” Taking the plain ceramic vial from her, I left the Temple and made my way towards the residential quarter. I hadn’t noticed it on my way to the Temple this morning but the streets were… less crowded that usual. Oh, for sure there were still plenty of people going about their business, but the usual crowds seemed oddly thinned.

Auline’s residence was easy enough to find and, receiving no answer when I knocked, I went in. Geon Auline was in a very bad way, a very high temperature and huge splotches of crimson on his face and exposed arms. I blanched, stepping back from the infected Cyrodiil, and then laughed. It had been such an instinctive reaction to the disease that I had reacted without thinking ~ the disease was, of course, no danger to me. Crossing to the bed, I helped the Man into a sitting position and carefully poured the sickly-smelling tonic down his throat.

It didn’t take long for the elixir to work: his stentorian breathing, laboured and rasping, was the first thing to clear up, the angry-looking crimson splotches starting to fade away at the same time. After three or four minutes, he seemed to be completely cured, albeit still very weak. “Thank you,” he husked, sitting on the edge of the bed ~ about as far as he had been able to get. “I feel much better now.”

“You’ll feel even better when you get back into bed,” I said kindly. Ignoring his protests, I pushed him back into his bed and went into the small food-preparation area of his domicile. A while later, Geon Auline was sitting up in bed and sipping hot vegetable broth from a bowl and seemed much better.

“Thank you for the soup,” he said, “it’s really quite good. Let me ask you something, can I impose on your good nature a little more?”

“That would depend,” I replied.

“I am a collector,” Auline said, pointing towards a heavily locked cabinet on the wall. “I have been collecting Lesser House blades and I came to Mournhold simply to get my hands on a House Droth Dagger. There’s a lady named Arnsa Thendas whose husband, recently deceased, was a fellow collector. I know he had the dagger I’m looking for but, in my current state, I can hardly approach Thendas. Could I prevail upon you…?”

I shrugged, it was hardly a difficult task and Thendas Manor was scarcely more than a hundred paces away from Auline’s rented accommodation. Arnsa Thendas proved to be a much younger woman than I’d anticipated, but the Legion shield and ‘pot’ told me all I needed to know about her husband’s death. “Forgive me for intruding,” I said, “but I am interested in purchasing something from your late husband’s collection.”

“Did you know my husband?” she asked, looking at me closely, “you have the look of the Legion about you.”

It would have been easy to lie, to claim kinship with her husband in the hope of securing a favourable response. “I’m afraid I never had that privilege,” I replied. “He and I must have been stationed at different garrisons.”

“Oh,” she said, looking slightly crestfallen. Then she asked, “What was it from my husband’s collection you were interested in?”

“A House Droth dagger,” I replied. She nodded, crossing to a small flat box and unlocking it. From within the chest, she brought out an ancient Chitin dagger, the handle of which was decorated with inlaid glass ~ the decoration taking the form of a clenched fist.

“I was about to put the whole estate up for auction,” she said, “before I return to Tear. I don’t see that there would be a problem with selling this separately. My husband prized it highly, and valued it at six hundred Septims. I suppose I could…”

“Six hundred Septims will be an acceptable price Muthsera Thendas,” I interrupted. Opening my purse, I took out six of the huge 100-Septim coins and placed them on the table. She nodded her thanks and, picking up the coins, passed me the dagger. Geon Auline’s face lit up when I showed him the dagger and, without even blinking when I told him I’d paid six hundred for it, he made me an offer of eight hundred Septims.

Two hundred Septims better off; I made my way through the quiet streets to Velas Manor. Twice I could have sworn I heard quiet laughter from behind me but, when I turned around, there was no one to be seen. By the time I reached the manse, I was deeply uneasy and I planned to speak to the Temple Healer on the morrow.