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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Thanking the young warrior, I headed off into the echoing canyons surrounding the camp. Pretty soon there was a hint of sulphur in the air and I saw the unmistakable roseate glow of lava up ahead. This, then, must be the ‘Stream of Fire’ that the young warrior had alluded to. As I drew closer to the sluggishly flowing molten rock, I spotted a scrap of parchment caught up in some long grass.

Bending down, I examined it ~ it read: Antiochus was certainly one of the more flamboyant members of the usually austere Septim Family. He had numerous mistresses and nearly as many wives, and was renowned for the grandeur of his dress and his high good humour. Unfortunately, his reign was rife with civil war, surpassing even that of his grandfather Uriel II. The War of the Isle in 3E110, twelve years after Antiochus assumed the throne, nearly took the province of Summurset Isle away from Tamriel. The united alliance of the kings of Summurset and Antiochus only managed to defeat King Orghum of the island-kingdom of Pyandonea due to a freak storm. Legend credits the Psijic Order of the Isle of Artaeum with the sorcery behind the tempest.

Standing, I scanned the immediate area and, sure enough, there was another scrap of parchment from ‘A Brief History of Empire’ caught in the gap between two rocks near the path. In this manner, scouting for the loose leaves of the book, I made my way through this rocky patch of the Molag Amur until I came to a deep depression. Skeletal trees poked long-dead branches towards the sky while, from the deep crevasses and cracks in the surrounding ground, rose a thick and stinking roil of steam. Circling the depression, I soon spotted another loose scrap of parchment and, on approaching it; I espied a well-built yurt tucked back against the rocky canyon walls.

With a degree of trepidation I approached the camp, gripping the hilt of my sword as two Ashlander women came out of the yurt and took up positions near the entrance. As I drew closer, the taller of the two pushed back her hood and called, “what do you do here Outlander?”

“I seek audience with the Mabrigash,” I called back, standing still as the other woman strung an arrow in her bow.

“Approach then Telvanni,” the taller woman called, “I will announce your presence.” She vanished into the yurt and I spent an uncomfortable couple of minutes under the watchful eye ~ and drawn bow ~ of the silent Ashlander female. Finally, the taller one came out of the tent and said, “you may enter Telvanni, and Zennammu will speak with you.”

I’d been expecting some wizened old crone but Zennammu was middle-aged, tall and regal. Not pretty, even by the most generous standards, nevertheless she had a certain austere beauty about her. When she moved, she moved like a knife – smoothly, effortlessly, and deadly. I bowed my head, waiting for her to speak.

“I say,” a rich and plumy voice said, “I seem to be in a bit of a bind here. Any chance you could see your way clear to, well, helping me out?”

“Jocien Ancois, I presume?” I said sparing him a glance before turning my eyes back to watch the Mabrigash. She motioned for me to stand upright and looked me square in the eye.

“Why are you here Telvanni,” she asked in a soft voice, “wearing the armour of your enemies?”

I glanced at Ancois and then back at Zennammu. She took the hint and, waving a hand in the Breton’s direction, she spoke a soft word. Instantly, Jocien was asleep on his feet, his soft snores punctuating our conversation. “I seek the knowledge of how my enemies fight,” I replied, “and, to do that, I must move among them unremarked.”

“And so you hide your true hatred from them by masquerading as one of them,” she said. I gave a start: up until that moment I hadn’t considered the fact that my dislike of the Imperial system might be classed as hate. Something to think on. Meanwhile, the Mabrigash was still speaking. “You came seeking the kindly fool.”

It wasn’t a question, although I treated it as such. “Yes, I came seeking Jocien Ancois,” I replied.

“Those who’s uniform you wear sent you,” she said. Again, this was not a question ~ the words were delivered with the flat conviction of someone who knows they speak the truth.

I nodded, “there are those who are… alarmed by his disappearance and wish him returned. Whatever the cost,” I added.

“We are but simple women-folk,” the Mabrigash said, and it was all I could do to suppress a snort of laughter. I had seen the two women outside moving with a dancer’s grace and I’d seen the controlled movements of the Mabrigash ~ whatever else they were, ‘simple women-folk’ was about as far from the truth as it was possible to get. “We need the kindly fool to do certain tasks, such as hunting and… other things.”

Uh-uh, there was no way I wanted to know what ‘other things’ might cover. However, I had an idea. “Wouldn’t it be better if you had a warrior from the Erabenimsun Camp?” I asked. “Then you need not look over your shoulder for the soldiers who are bound to come if I fail.”

She nodded, “if you can persuade a warrior from the camp to come to us, we will release the kindly fool and return him to you. Assaba-Bentus is a good warrior, young and strong. He will make an acceptable… substitute. Now, you have heard our terms…”

Bowing once more to the Mabrigash, I stepped outside and let out a shaky sigh. The taller of the Meric females regarded me with cool amusement but the younger one said nothing, the edge of her hood down over her eyes. With a polite nod, I made my way back towards the Erabenimsun Camp, rehearsing the words I was going to say.

Assaba-Bentus was a dour-faced young man with sharp, aquiline features and a nice line in ornately decorative facial tattoos. “Why is everyone so afraid of the Mabrigash?” I said to no one in particular as I stood near where he was standing.

“I’m not afraid,” he snapped predictably.

“Oh come on,” I chided. “One elderly woman and two assistants and you’re afraid of them. Big strong Mer like yourself scared of three females.”

“I. Am. Not. Afraid,” he said, emphasising each word.

“Prove it,” I replied.

“Lead me to the Mabrigash,” he snarled, “and I’ll show you who’s afraid of who, Outlander.” Suppressing a smile, I nodded my head and guided Assaba-Bentus through the canyons of the Molag Amur to Zennammu’s camp.

“Yes, he will do nicely,” the Mabrigash said with a lascivious grin. “Take the kindly fool and leave. Now.”

Jocien Ancois scurried out of the yurt after me, offering his profuse thanks. “I have a question,” I asked. “Why do the Ashlanders call you ‘The Kindly Fool’?”

He grinned, rather shame-faced. “I bring them medicines and try to teach them the ways of the Divines. They thank me for the medicines but think I am a fool for giving them away and even more of a fool when I speak of the Divines.

“It’s not easy, trying to get through to them. However…” he straightened and his face took on a determined look, “…I have no intention of giving up on them just yet. Thank you again for rescuing me, but I must get back to the Erabenimsun Camp and continue teaching them the ways of the Empire. Assaba-Bentus shows a great deal of promise… why are you coughing like that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I lied before beating a hasty retreat and allowing Ancois to make his own way back to the Ashlander camp. According to my map, the Mabrigash’s yurt isn’t that far from Tel Vahl and I decided that I would walk back. On the way I had a most peculiar encounter.

I was near a tomb ~ the Maran Ancestral Tomb ~ when the door burst open and a Man rushed up to me. “I am Batou,” he screamed, “saviour of Vvardenfell.” I pushed the dishevelled Man away from me and regarded him warily. He raved and ranted about how he, Batou, was going to cleanse Vvardenfell of the ‘Dunmeri taint’ and ‘restore it to the glory that was Resdayn’. When I pointed out that the Dunmer were the rightful inhabitants of Vvardenfell, not the Nords, he went absolutely mental ~ not a particularly long journey I think.

Having already had a run in or two with those whose view of reality has been distorted somewhat by Sheogorath’s influence, I knew it was pointless trying to argue with the Man and retaliated to his attack with my sword. Intrigued by his comments, I ventured into the Card’ruhn and did a little exploration. Inside I found several quite valuable items: the Bloodwurm Helm, a Teal Ioun stone, a pair of shard greaves, an apprentice scroll that teaches Taldam’s Scorcher, and a book. The book, ‘Daedric Shrines of Importance’ looked interesting enough so I added that to the pile.

Returning to Tel Vahl, I called Kallin Basalius to my chambers and instructed her to keep an eye on the witch Zennammu and, if possible, to befriend her. There had been something about the woman, a sense of controlled power and I’d rather that power was on my side than set against me.