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 ‘Eight Plates’ was where I chose to break my fast this morning and, while I was eating, I heard a most amusing tale. Late last night a rather drunken Dunmer had entered the ‘Eight Plates’ and proclaimed, despite the rather fleshy evidence to the contrary, that he was a Lich. When the barkeeper remonstrated with him, the Dunmer fled and disappeared somewhere north of the Temple, by the little bridge that leads north out of Balmora. Shaking my head at the oddness of some of the locals, I finished my meal and made my way over to the Mages Guild.

Despite a frosty reception, the Orc gra-Muzgob seemed quite pleased to see me. She showed virtually none of the standoffish attitude shown by the other Mages. “So,” she said, “You want to know about the cult of the Nerevarine? Well, I know some things about the cult and, if you’ll do a favour for me, I’ll tell you what I know.”

“And what would that favour be?” I asked.

“I need a skull from the Andrano Ancestral Tomb,” she said. “More specifically, the skull of Llevule Andrano. I’d get it myself but the locals have this silly prejudice against necromancers.”

“Are you a necromancer?” I asked, coldly.

“What, me, no, no I’m most certainly not a necromancer,” she boomed loudly and unconvincingly. “Ha-ha, whatever gave you that idea?”

I decided to be diplomatic and made no comment. She gave me detailed directions to the tomb, not that I needed them: I’d been in the Andrano Card’ruhn back when I first arrived on this island and, somewhere, I had the skull gra-Muzgob wanted. Now all I had to do was remember where…

Radd Hard-Heart was delighted when I put the three chunks of Dwemeri metal on his desk. “Now that’s canny,” he crowed. “Let’s see them Armigers beat that!” Despite my protests, he insisted on paying me for the metal at the current market rate. Then he dropped the other shoe.

“A missionary from the Imperial Cult has been kidnapped,” he said. “He was out at the Erabenimsun camp, back of beyond in the Molag Amur. Seems Jocien Ancois ran foul o’ some local witch-woman. ‘Tis very important we get him release Agent Vahl. I’m counting on ye lassie.”

As I made my way out of the keep, I took the opportunity to cast an eye over the goods offered for sale by the various vendors that serviced the place. A large, black-bound volume on the table of a Nord named Urfang caught my eye. “How much for this?” I asked, holding up the book.

“Thousand Septims,” Urfang replied. I shook my head, mentally spat on my hands and went to work. After several minutes of friendly barter, I had convinced the Nord to sell me the book four eight hundred Septims. Carefully tucking ‘Lheros on Imperial Chain’ into my backpack ~ which was now starting to bulge alarmingly ~ put on my stronghold ring and made the journey to Tel Vahl. There I collared Gorven Menas and told him to put the ingredients I unloaded from my pack into the appropriate receptacles in my alchemy lab. Mindful that he had a business to run, I told him that he could keep one-fifth of each ingredient for himself. Leaving Gorven Menas carefully sorting through a mound of bottles, packages, and phials, I made my way south to the Erabenimsun Camp.

The glowering circle of warriors that surrounded me as I entered the camp didn’t exactly inspire me with confidence but having had some dealings with these proud and quick-tempered people, I knew better than to make any overt moves towards my weapons. Reluctantly they parted and let me through to the middle of the camp where the circle quickly reformed. “Does anyone here know the missionary Jocien Ancois?” I asked, standing by the fire that seems to be a central feature of all the Ashlander camps.

“We know of him Outlander,” a voice called from the back of the crowd. “Why do you ask after the kindly fool?”

“I represent his… Clan,” I said with sudden inspiration. “They are concerned that he has not returned and have asked me to seek him out.”

“Then this is a Clan matter?” a burly Ashlander in heavy Chitin armour asked, bullying his way to the front of the crowd. I nodded, “Then why does his Clan not stand here asking?” he asked, “or are you of his Clan and seek to disguise this fact?”

“Ancois’ Clan is far from here,” I extemporised. “And have instructed me to act as their representative.”

The burly Ashlander looked disappointed at my reply. With a sniff of distain, he turned and walked away ~ accompanied by several other warriors. Somehow I had the feeling that I had averted a disaster ~ although for the life of me I couldn’t have said how or why. Several other warriors drifted away now that any chance of some ‘entertainment’ had faded, leaving a handful of younger males and a scattering of women.

“Does anyone know where Jocien Ancois is?” I asked. There was a group of women near the back and I saw them bend their heads and whisper to each other. Then one of them called out.

“The Mabrigash has taken him Outlander,” she said, “she will never let him go.”

“And where would I find this Mabrigash?” I asked.

“If you truly wish to die Outlander, follow the canyons west to the stream of fire,” one of the young men said. “Near the clump of dead trees is a steaming vent. Somewhere near there is Zennammu’s camp.”