The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Every Day a Walk In The Park... Options

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The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Part Seven

Darius, according to Master Demnevanni, ran his office out of the Madach Tradehouse in Gnisis. So, after translocating there after breaking my fast, I made my way into the lower half of the “shell” that comprised the Tradehouse. Darius was short, stocky, and clad in gorgeous armour – all gilded metal with a flowing red cape. He looked up at me and said, “So, you want to join the Legion do you Citizen Vahl? Well, it’s true that we have a shortage of Manpower ~ and Merpower for that matter. You look capable enough. Tell me, are you capable of following orders?”

“Excellent,” he said when I assured him I was. “It’s a Mer’s life in the Legion. Every day a walk in the park, every meal is a banquet, every pay check a fortune. It’ll make a Ma... Mer of you. Right, Recruit Vahl, here is your regulation-issue chain cuirass. You will wear it when you address a superior officer, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes… sir,” I replied.

Darius shook his head. “The first and last word I want to hear out of your mouth when you address me is ‘Sir’. Now sound out like you got a pair. Do you understand me?”

“Sir, yes Sir,” I said in a clear voice, desperately trying to ignore the sniggering Orc in the corner of the room.

“Outstanding,” he said. “Now get that cuirass on and I’ll give you your orders.

“You might be wondering,” he said once I’d got the chain cuirass in place, “why I am billeted in the Tradehouse? Well, it’s because we have no room to expand. The widow Vabdas has a parcel of land the Legion needs to expand. I want you to come back to me with the deeds as quickly as possible. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes Sir,” I replied, turning to march out of the room. As I went up the stairs, I heard General Darius addressing the Orcish Trooper, “gro-Khazor, what is your major malfunction?”

Vabdas had a house just west of town, out past Arvs-Drelen, so it wasn’t difficult to get to. Her reaction, when I spoke to her about the land-deed was to slap me across the face ~ hard. I suppressed the spells that roared into my mind and, speaking carefully, said, “you would be wise not to do that again.”

“Why?” she snapped, and now I could see the tears in her eyes. “Because you’ll kill me like you did Mansilamat?”

“I assure you ma’am,” I told her, “I had no part in the death of Mansilamat. Tell me what happened…” Bit by patient bit, I dragged the story from her. It seems that her husband, the aforementioned Mansilamat, had gone to the Egg-Mine at Gnisis to get some eggs. There, according to the widow, the Legion had killed her husband.

As I walked back towards Gnisis, I reflected that whatever power controls my life has an infinite capacity for capriciousness. What should have been the simple acquisition of a deed to some land had now become a murder investigation. Of course, that was how General Darius saw it and he told me to obtain proof that the Legion had been involved. Fortunately, the guard at the door of the Egg-Mine proved amenable to my charming behaviour and, after checking that there was nobody watching, he gave me the key to the door.

There was a familiar stink about the mine, one that I remembered from the Mudan-Mul Mine. Drawing my sword, I advanced with some care. Fortunately, whatever was blighting the mine was confined to the lower quarters and the Scribs in the upper chambers were not aggressive. I wish the same could be said of Trooper gro-Ogdum. The Orc gave me a three count to get the Oblivion out of the area he was guarding. As quickly as I could, I chose one of the passages and headed off down it. From up ahead I could hear the drip-drip of water and a strange noise ~ like wind. As I rounded the corner, I came upon the source of the sound. There, in the middle of the passage, was an Ancestral Spirit.

“Hear me Mortal,” it moaned, as I made ready to swing my sword, “Stay your hand ~ I am Mansilamat Vabdas, I was murdered, most foully, by the Orc Lugrub gro-Ogdum. I beg you, avenge me…” The last syllable was drawn out as the spectre faded from view. I knew that the word of an apparition would carry no weight with General Darius: I needed more proof. I found it in the depth of the pool nearby ~ the corpse of Mansilamat and a notched Imperial axe.

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The last two days have been exhausting. I’ve been given ‘instruction’ in commanding troops and battle tactics; as well as drilled in various forms of combat ~ including spear, short-sword, and advanced long-sword techniques. From comments I’d overheard, this was my reward for dealing with the Cult in Gnisis ~ the fast track to officer status. Even though I was outranked by many of the tutors, they all scrupulously addressed me as “Ma’am” or (and this amused me) “Sir”.

Now I was making the walk from Balmora to Fort Moonmoth where my new commanding officer waited. Radd Hard-Heart was his name, a tall Nord with an expansive personality. “Lass,” he boomed as I walked in the door, “’tis fine to see ye. Now, I have two things for ye to attend to.

“The first is the Buoyant Armigers up Ghostgate. They tasked us lassie that they did. They’ve challenged us to a hunt, claiming they’ll bring in the skin o’ a Corprus beastie. I want tae teach ‘em no to mess wi’ the Legion: I need you tae bring me some scrap metal from one o’ them Dwemer centurions. That’ll teach ‘em nae tae mess wi’ us.

“There be a ruin near here, Arkngthand or some such jaw-breaker o’ a name. Ye’ll be sure tae find what we need there. T’other thing is, I got a message from someone named Caius Cosades in Balmora. He says, an’ I quote, ‘you never call, you never write, yer family is getting’ worried. Come see me as soon as ye can, I’ll let them know where you are and what you’re up to.’”

See, now this is exactly the reason I was reluctant to have dealings with the Legion. I knew that putting myself in their orbit would put me dangerously close to Cosades. And I had grown up enough to understand the threat implicit in the message. My ‘family’ would love to know where I was ~ especially if they knew how well off I was. They’d be on the first Mage Transport over here, demanding money to pay back some imagined debt. With a sigh, I headed back down the road towards Balmora.

Daniela Styles was intrigued by the news that the tomb of the Master Smith had been overrun with Daedra and even more by the news that I had taken two rings from there. “You know that Master Lheros wrote many valuable books on the art of smithing armour? The Legion confiscated many of them, but several are in private hands. Each book teaches how to make a particular type of armour.”

Cosades was in an avuncular mood when I let myself into his room. “Well, well, look what the Alit dragged in,” he said. “Done well for yourself haven’t you Novice Vahl? Or would you prefer Theurgist Vahl, or Arch-Magister Vahl, or Protector Vahl, or Disciple Vahl, or even Agent Vahl? I know I said to establish a cover identity but there is such a thing as taking things to excess. Still, I assume you know your own mind best.”

I narrowed my eyes at Cosades, unhappy that he had been keeping such close tabs on me. Although, on reflection, I shouldn’t have been surprised. “I need you to do something for me Novice,” the spymaster continued. “I need some information about the Sixth House Cult and the Cult of the Nerevarine. Now, Hasphat Antabolis at the Fighter’s Guild is the person you’ll be seeing and it’s very likely he’ll want a favour for a favour as it were. I don’t care what the favour is, I need that information.”

“Well, well,” Antabolis said when I opened the door to the training area in the Guildhouse cellars, “long time, no see Protector Vahl. What bring you to sunny Balmora?”

“I’m looking for information on the Sixth House Cult and the Cult of the Nerevarine,” I told him. He developed a frown and motioned for me to shut the door. Drawing me close, he dropped his voice to a whisper.

“Dangerous subjects,” he murmured. Then, in a slightly louder voice, he said, “I’ve heard tell that there is a Dwemer Puzzle-Box in the ruins of Arkngthand. Don’t…” he said, holding up a hand to forestall my question, “…ask me how I know, I just do. The box is about so big, made of a brownish coloured material and has symbols on each face. Bring it to me and I’ll tell you what I know about those two subjects you mentioned.

“Oh, and a bit of information you might find useful,” he added, “from what I hear, the ruins have been the base of a group of smugglers for a while. You might want to approach it with some caution.”

It seemed that the two tasks I had merged with a worrying degree of synchronicity: Hasphat and the box and the scrap metal hunt for Hard-Heart. You’d almost think that the Powers That Be were playing games with my life ~ and we all know they’d never do that. Yeah, right. It was in such a mood that I tramped up the road towards Moonmoth. Just before the Fort, there is a road that leads around to Caldera: according to Hasphat Antabolis there is a path that leads up to an old Dwemer bridge off this road.

Sure enough, there was such a track and it did lead up to a massive Dwemer construction that spanned the Foyada Mamaea. Of course, most Dwemer bridges don’t feature a snowy-haired Imperial busily unloading crates from a cart. Ahhh, I thought as the man yelled something at me and summoned forth a skeletal warrior, drama.

The scroll I wanted dropped easily into my hand and I spoke the words as the warrior rattled its way across the bridge towards me. With a sparkle of light, the Clannfear appeared in front of me. Sniffing the air, the crocodile-snouted creature hissed its disapproval of being Summoned before turning with reptilian speed and tearing through the oncoming skeleton. And I use the phrase ‘tear through’ in its most literal sense: with one swipe of its claws, the Clannfear reduced the skeleton to several hundred separate pieces before loping towards the Man.

The man attempted to summon another warrior to assist, but the Clannfear was far too fast, barely had the first syllables of the spell been uttered when the scaly beast was tearing into him. The Man wielded a short-sword with some skill, fending off the creature’s snapping jaws. Of course, I wasn’t content to let the Summons have all the fun. While it had been dismantling the skeleton, I had fetched the crossbows out of my pack. By the time the Man and the Dremora were locked in combat, I had both of them loaded.

Taking careful aim, I let fly with the first bolt, the heavy metal shaft slamming into the Man’s shoulder and pitching him back against the railing. The Clannfear lashed out, the blow catching the Man high on the chest. With a despairing wail, the Man over balanced and toppled, headfirst, over the guardrail. I winced; the soft, squishy thud had been clearly audible even at this distance. I didn’t think there was much chance he’d survived that ~ but a quick check wouldn’t hurt.

Right there’s an experience I never wish to speak of again. Let’s just say that he didn’t survive and leave it at that. To take my mind off the unpleasant sight, I examined the crates the Man had been unloading. Most of them were empty, those that weren’t contained various foodstuffs. Pushed behind the cart, where I hadn’t noticed them before, were two Dwemer barrels. One contained a small number of tiny Dwemer coins, the other a number of emeralds. Scooping up the contents of both barrels, I continued towards the now visible ruins of Arkngthand.

Where I ran in to my first major setback. The door I had expected to see at the end of the well-worn path was conspicuous by its absence. Instead, a smooth stone sphere extended from the side of the building. The word ‘Arkngthand’ was clearly written across it, but no amount of prodding or prying would persuade the sphere to budge. I cast around, looking for some clue: which is why, a short distance from the door, I found the crank. The curved handle moved smoothly and easily as I pushed on it and, with the sound of stone grating against stone, the sphere split down the middle and each half retracted back to reveal the main entrance.

The door led into a vast cavern where, protruding from the rock, were various bits of Dwemer architecture. A stone ledge led down to the floor of the cave, although there was a break in one of the rocky walls that obviously led into some of the ruins. There were a number of bandits in the ruins, about six in total. They may have been impressive as smugglers and bandits, as fighters though? They hardly caused me any problem at all.

There were large numbers of crates in the ruins, identical to the ones the Man had been unloading from the cart. These, however, were full of far more interesting things than simple foodstuff. Emeralds, rubies, diamonds, Dwemer goblets, bowls, jugs, and pitchers. Two crates contained nothing but those huge ‘cogs’ you often find scattered throughout Dwemer ruins. I also found a small fortune in Glass and Ebony, along with the usual things you find: Ash Salts, Fire Salts, Dwemer pipe, Dwemer grease, and shards of Dwemeri metal. I made sure that, while I took a large number of items, I picked up several of these twisted metal chunks for Radd Hard-Heart.

Exploring the ruins had brought me through several chambers with the usual inscrutable names. Names like ‘Weeping Bell Hall’ and ‘Heavens Gallery’: which I assume meant something special to the original occupants of these gloomy ruins. It was off one of these that I discovered a small area called ‘Hollow Hand’. And there, at the back of the chamber, was the treasure I sought.

I picked the puzzle-box up off the shelf and examined it. It seemed to consist of several smaller cubes, nine to a side. Careful experimentation showed that each band could be rotated horizontally or vertically ~ it was obvious that the disrupted patterns that decorated each of the six sides could, if you knew how to do it, be reassembled. Tucking it carefully into my pack, I made my way back to Balmora.

“Yes!” Hasphat exclaimed when I gave him the puzzle-box, “Rhubrihk’s Cube!” I gave him a quizzical look and he had the grace to look abashed at his enthusiasm. He explained that these puzzle-boxes were highly prized and that this one, according to what he could make out, gave directions on how to access the lower areas of Arkngthand. “When I've managed to crack the puzzle,” he said, “I’ll let you know how to get into the lower areas of the ruin.

“Now, the information you wanted.” He closed the door and spoke quietly while I made notes. “I can’t tell you much about the Cult of the Nerevarine,” he said, “other than it’s a pretty wide-spread local religion. The Sixth House, however ~ that I can tell you a bit about. Back in the days of the Dwemer, Morrowind was controlled by six Great Houses: Redoran, Hlaalu, Telvanni, Dres, Indoril, and Dagoth. The Dwemer were, for political reasons, referred to as ‘The Seventh House’.

“For reasons I’m not sure about, the Dwemer and House Indoril went to war; it was during this conflict that the Dwemer mysteriously vanished. House Dagoth betrayed House Indoril and the head of both Houses were killed. The cult seeks to establish dominance over all of Morrowind in the name of the Sixth House, or House Dagoth. There are dark rumours that the cult uses some foul magical process to promote its aims and there are even concerns that the Sixth House Cult is responsible for the spread of the Blight…”

There was, of course, much more information that Hasphat gave me, but most of it was in the form of hearsay or conjecture. Regardless, I wrote it all down and delivered my notes to Caius Cosades.

“I shall need a while to distil the relevant information from this,” he said, holding up my notes. “However, I still need information on the Cult of the Nerevarine. Sharn gra-Muzgob at the Mages Guild has made a study of local legends and might be able to provide some information. Like Hasphat, she’s likely to want you to do something for her…” I was beginning to see a pattern here: rather than pay informants in cold cash, the Blades worked on the ‘you do me a favour, I’ll do you a favour’ system. And, as the lowest ranking member of the Blades, guess who it was that got to do the ‘little favours’?

While I was musing on that happy thought, I made my way over to Dura gra-Bol’s former house, where I intended to spend the night.