The Tale Of Sudhendra Vahl: Mad Gods, Being the ninth chapter... Options

[OverrideB1]

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.

[OverrideB1]

Varus Vatinius’ eyes lit up like lanterns when I unpacked the armour, he could barely wait to get his hands on it. Somehow I suspected that the artefact wouldn’t end up in the Shrine or, despite what Vatinius’ mouth was saying, in the strong room beneath the castle. His eyes were telling a very different story.

When he’d stopped (metaphorically) dribbling over the armour, he snapped a new set of orders at me ~ seemingly having forgotten his promise to promote me if I fetched the Lords Mail back. “The Paladin’s Blade has passed into the hands of a powerful sorceress by the name of Dramamu Hloran. You will travel to Sadrith Mora and recover the blade. Shouldn’t be difficult for you to accomplish that, should it Telvanni?”

Stalking away from the Man, I opened a portal to Sadrith Mora and stepped through it. If I wanted information on this Dramamu Hloran, my Mouth would be a good place to start.

“Good job you came to see me bo… Sed Vahl,” he said. “Most of the folk around here wouldn’t want to discuss her. She’s a pretty powerful Mage from what I’ve heard and she’s got some magical sword or other.”

“The Paladin’s Blade,” I said.

“Chrysamere?” he gasped, “the actual, genuine Chrysamere Paladin Sword? Like, erm, wow.” I grinned at his enthusiasm, wondering what he’d make of the large collection of artefacts securely located below Tel Vahl. Now that Eddie had named it, I knew what it was I was tracking down and could understand why Vatinius wanted it. A true hero, wielding Chrysamere, was supposed to be unstoppable in combat ~ or so the old tales went. Personally I figured that anyone or anything could be stopped in battle. You just needed to know where to stick the pointy bit of your sword for the best effect.

Abanabi was darker than any place I’ve ever been in, and not only from the lack of light. There was an oppressive feel to the place that spoke of dark magics, frequently performed. Fast Eddie had repeatedly warned me that Hloran was a powerful sorceress and had a reputation for dabbling in things that, to use his words, were better left undabbled with. So, it was with as much caution as I could muster that I made my way down the dark, unlit tunnel that led into the depths of the cave system.

The flickering glow on the rock ahead told me what was likely to be around the corner and, forewarned, I carefully constructed the intricate shape of the Blizzard spell before advancing any further. The Fire Atronach had barely registered my presence in the tunnel when I spoke the words of the spell, “Dywyll chymylau, yn nadu bwrw eira, angheuol brythwch.” The fires of the Atronach’s form dimmed as the icy wind swirled around it, the hiss of ice-shards flashing into steam clearly audible as two totally disparate elements fought for supremacy. Gritting my teeth, I poured more magicka into the spell, the cyclone of arcane forces around the embattled Atronach screaming and howling. I gasped as, with a suddenness that was startling, the flames of the Atronach were snuffed out and, with a despairing wail, the creature vanished back to the fiery depths of the realm that had spawned it.

It was with a shaky hand that I drew the phial of restorative liquid from my pack and drank deeply of it. Then came that strange ballooning sensation, as if your mind is swelling, as the raw magicka that surrounds the Mundus roared into me. Revitalised, I dropped the vial and edged further into Abanabi. The first off-shoot of the tunnels that I chose led to a deep hollow in the rocks, a ladder leading down into it. This cavern seemed to be some sort of storage area, if the stacked urns and crates were any indication. Backing away before the Ice Atronachs that were roaming around the hollow noticed me, I backtracked and took the other branch of the tunnel.

This led to another large chamber, wherein a Breton had set up her abode. Like all such lone practitioners of magic that lack the drive and discipline of Telvanni mages, the solitude and her studies had combined to erode her social graces. Her response, upon seeing me, was to summon a large and grotesque Bone-Walker and press it to the attack. There is a little know fact about Summoned creatures ~ if you take care of the Summoner, then the Summoning is instantly consigned back to whatever nether region it hailed from. That was why I drew the longbow from the top of my pack and opened fire on the Bretonian mage instead of advancing to meet the Bone-Walker as it descended the stairs.

The steel-tipped arrow smashed into the sorceress, the force of the impact throwing her backwards onto the raised platform even at this distance. I grinned, the sparkling motes of the Bone-Walker’s dissolution telling me everything I needed to know about the fate of the sorceress. Which left me with one problem; namely, that there was no way out of this cavern save the way I had come in. having looted the few meagre possessions of the deceased magic-user, I retraced my steps until I came back to the junction.

I knew that the tunnel to my left led back to the surface and that I’d passed no side tunnels on the way down. That means that the way forward was through the storage area directly ahead. I cursed softly; I hadn’t thought to bring either Clanbringer or the Last Wish, both of which inflicted fire-based damage, which would have been extremely useful at this juncture. Still, fireballs were always a handy option…

Standing atop the rickety ladder that led down into the storage area, I lashed out with a stream of incandescent spheres, the thunderous impacts of their detonation echoing through the rocks halls as the Ice Atronachs withered and dissolved under the barrage. I couldn’t have announced my presence more clearly without hiring a runner to deliver a message. Speed was, now, of the essence. Scrambling down the ladder, I found the tunnel leading downwards directly under it and, all hope of stealth abandoned, rushed down it.

I ran into a storm of spells ~ mostly fireballs and poison clouds ~ from the sorceress. Since I still had my longbow to hand and more than a few arrows, I skidded to a halt near a rocky outcropping and fired. Dissolving the spell she was in the process of casting, Dramamu Hleran dived for cover as the arrow clattered off the wooden railing. I risked a quick look around the grey stone I was hiding behind and damn’ near got my head blown off for my trouble. Loading up an arrow, I took up tension on the bow-string and risked another quick glance, snapping my head back as I spotted the incoming spell.

The fireball had barely dissipated when I stepped out of cover. Seconds later Dramamu stepped from behind her chunk of rock, the glow precursor to a fireball already forming between her cupped hands. Resisting the urge to fire immediately, I watched the fireball swell and grow. When I judged the thing was as powerful as it was going to get, I fired. The steel-tipped arrow flew straight and true, transecting the glowing sphere just as it left the sorceress’ hands. There was a brilliant flare of light as the spell detonated around the arrow and a scream as the now molten steel arrowhead plunged into Dramamu Hleran’s breast.

Chrysamere wasn’t the only treasure Dramamu Hloran had hidden away in Abanabi: I found several phials of exotic poisons, a purple Ioun stone, a green Ioun stone, several of the large golden Soul-Stones, and a couple of apprentice scrolls.

Having taken the precaution of placing a Mark in the Grand Council Chamber, I cast recall and returned to Ebonheart. Needless to say, Varus Vatinius was delighted to get the Paladin’s Blade. He claimed it was time the artefact was returned to the Legion but, from the way he spoke, I suspected that he considered the blade as much his as he considered it the Legion’s. Possibly more so. True to his word, he promoted me to the rank of Knight of the Garland, putting me on a par with the commanders of the various Forts around Morrowind Province.

“So,” I said, looking at the chitty that would get me the coveted silver cuirass, “how do I go about getting promoted to the next rank?”

“There can be only one, Telvanni,” Vatinius said, his voice turning cold and deadly. “And, since you think you’re so much better than me, I hereby challenge you to a duel. Your choice of weapons.”

“Very well,” I said with equal coldness. “On the morrow, at the Arena in Vivec City. Swords are the weapons of choice, magic ~ if a dullard like you can cast a simple spell ~ is also allowed.”

“Why wait until the morrow, Dark Elf?”

I gave him a totally humourless grin, “so that you can make peace with whichever gods would listen to a scum-sucking low-life like you.”

[OverrideB1]

After a brief and Guild-wars induced hiatus, I'm back and caught up. New posts will start on the morrow...

[Neck' Thall]

AWWWWEEEEESSSSSOOOOOMMMMEEEEE!!!!!
Nice battle scenes with the sorceress.

Please continue.

[Wolfie]

You have Guild Wars Override? Cool. What's your char's name?

And great addition to the story

[Neck' Thall]

Hey lone wolf u should thank me cuz i got u a Master special unit in last knights

[Wolfie]

I did? cool thanks

EDIT: Hey i haven't got any special unit

This post has been edited by LoneWolf: Aug 9 2005, 07:38 PM

[Neck' Thall]

Go to beach or lands to get him and keep refusing till u get it. u got it cuz ima captain now, btw what rank, Country are you

Edit: Ugg....U Dang Swedish *Cesored* Quit Trying to fight China and THai!!

just joking btw imin CHina

This post has been edited by Neck' Thall: Aug 9 2005, 07:48 PM

[OverrideB1]

I was up afore dawn and putting the finishing touches to my equipment: beating the last few dents out of the Nordic shield, sharpening my silver blades, polishing Blodskal ~ you know the sort of thing. I also took the opportunity to flex and exercise, moving through a series of twin blade exercises that the Skaal had taught me ~ much to the general approval of the House Guards who whistled and cheered as the silver blades flashed and sparkled in the rising sun.

Having bathed and, on the advice of Kallin Basalius, taken a light meal that consisted mainly of honeyed bread, I prepared to leave for Vivec City. As I summoned the portal that would take me to the Foreign Quarter Canton, I couldn’t help reflect on life’s little ironies.

The gondola deposited me at the dock of the Arena Canton and, even from down here, I could hear the hubbub of the crowds above me. There were an equal number of cheers and boos as I stepped off the ramp, the crowd parting before me so I could make my way to the walkways. As I started up, I heard a clear voice yelling, “two to one on the Imperial, ten to one on the challenger.”

I was escorted to the fighters’ chambers and the doors were closed behind me, two Ordinators standing guard outside. A soft knock sounded and, at my invitation, the door opened and Edward Theman stepped in. “Morning Sed Vahl,” he said, with obviously forced cheerfulness. A moment’s thought made me realise why ~ if I lost, he’d be out of a job. And, in the cut-throat world of Telvanni politics ‘Fast Eddie’ would get a chance to show how fast he really was ~ before he got his throat cut.

“Are they still offering good odds on Vatinius?” I asked.

“Two to one,” he said, the smile slipping slightly.

“And what are the odds on me winning?” I asked.

The smile slipped a little more as Eddie replied, “down to eleven to one against.”

“Go down and put this on me to win, will you?” I said, handing him a jingling purse with seven thousand Septims inside. His eyes went wide, and he grabbed the purse. “Should I put money on you too boss?” he asked.

Letting his slip go, just this once, I raised an eyebrow and said, “Surely you mean ‘put more money on you’ because, if you haven’t already bet on me, I’ll be somewhat offended.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, almost running towards the door, “that’s exactly what I meant.”

Alone in the chamber for the moment, I set down my pack and fetched out one of the tightly corked phials I had taken from Abanabi. With great care I smeared the colourless goo on the edges of the silver blades, slipping them into two leather scabbards at my waist: scabbards I’d brought along specifically for this reason. When Eddie came back and handed me the marker, he seemed slightly more cheerful. With a little help from me, he made sure my armour was in place and that I had everything I needed. As the door swung open and the two Ordinators gestured for me to accompany them, he whispered, “Good look Sed Telvanni Vahl.”

Resplendent in my Nordic chainmail, I accompanied the guards to a small door. Beside the door was a small dish, raised up on a stone pillar. The dish brimmed with powdered chalk and I took the opportunity to liberally coat my hands with powder. From behind the door came a noise I was trying hard to ignore: a dull surge of sound, the roar of a crowd.

I knew that power wasn’t going to win me this battle, and my skill with a blade was unlikely to match his ~ add to which, I was willing to bet that he was wearing the Lord’s Mail and carrying Chrysamere. So, not skill and not power ~ that left speed and guile. Hence the twin blades from Solstheim and the spider-toxin on their edges. I would have preferred to be wearing light armour but I needed the edge that the heavier chainmail would give me. With a deep breath I nodded to the Ordinators and they swung open the door.

There was an explosion of sound as a section of the crowd surged to their feet and roared their approval. I noticed many a brown robe or glittering House sigils on those currently chanting my name. With a nod to the Duke Dren, I retired to the sandy area by the door and waited, arms crossed. When the door opposite opened, the roar of the crowd was deafening. Varus Vatinius made a great show of saluting the Duke, slamming his clenched fist against his cuirass. I grinned, totally without mirth ~ I should have put money on the Lord’s Mail and Chrysamere being on the Imperial Dragon.

As tradition dictates, we stood in the centre of the Arena Pit and saluted each other. The wickedly curved Paladin Blade whispered from its scabbard as Vatinius gave me a totally blank stare. “Let’s dance old man,” I whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear as my twin blades hissed out of their scabbards and cleaved air.

He aimed a crosscut at me that I deflected easily. Before I could retaliate, he’d swung the Chrysamere around and slashed a second blow at me ~ one which I also easily deflected. Bored of being toyed with, I thought I’d remind Vatinius that this was no sparring match. Spinning away from the ponderous blow he’d aimed at me. I slashed out with both blades in a criss-cross pattern. The left blade missed its target, instead scoring a deep groove in the back of his bracer. The quickly moving point of the right hand blade opened up a shallow but bloody cut along his forearm.

He hissed and then retreated a step as I rained a fusillade of blows on him ~ most hammering into his shield, the rest striking sparks from the Paladin’s Blade as he parried. As our blades locked, Vatinius drove his head forward. I staggered backwards, momentarily blinded by my helm. Fortunately, the heavily protective Nordic design had blocked most of the force of the impact.

I danced to one side, avoiding the worst of Vatinius’ blow even though the glancing impact drove the rippling rings of armour into my side and made me gasp. Shaking off the effects of the blades enchantment, I sliced the air betwixt us with the silver blades, weaving a humming net that promised extreme pain. Spinning away from the probing point of Vatinius’ blade, I slashed a series of cuts at him ~ the rapidly whirling blades making the burly Cyrodiil flinch backwards as the fine edge of one blade opened a deep cut on his cheek. In retaliation, he hammered his shield into my side, slamming me back against the wall of the pit.

His blade struck sparks from the rough wall as I slipped away from him, driving my elbow into his helm as I went passed. He drove me back to the centre of the pit with a series of scything blows that fortunately didn’t connect. Locking blades one more, we glared at each other until his fist took me on the point of the chin. Staggering, I felt my feet slip from under me and I crashed down onto the sandy arena floor. Furious at falling for such an obvious ploy, I rolled to one side ~ grabbing a sword as I went passed ~ and gained my feet. Shield covering his side, Paladin Blade extended, Vatinius advanced towards me with a grin on his face.

“Exuro Meus Hostilis,” I snapped, extending my free hand towards him. I had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen as the incandescent sphere screamed towards him ~ the explosion of the spell against his blocking shield sufficiently powerful to drive him from his feet and several feet across the Arena Pit. I used the time I had thus gained to scuttle towards my lost sword and grab it. Vatinius had regained his feet, slinging aside the broken remnants of his shield with a snarl.

“Forgot who you were dealing with didn’t you… old man?” I taunted. With a roar, he rushed in, the Chrysamere aimed like a lance. Dancing to one side, I laid the edge of the poisoned blade to his bare forearm, cutting deep. Slashing back with the Paladin Blade, Vatinius struck me hard ~ the blow sending me several steps forwards. There was an uncomfortable wetness on my back ~ the nerves hadn’t yet had time to start screaming. With a low curse, I span and blocked a killing blow more by instinct than anything else. Our blades crashed together repeatedly as we strove for advantage.

“Feeling the strain old man?” I hissed him his ear as we locked blades again. “Or is it something else?”

He punched me, a blow I was prepared for. With a quick twist of the wrist, I drove the point of one of my blades into the joint between his cuirass and his pauldron ~ smirking as Vatinius yelled in pain as the blood began to flow. Driving the hilt of the Paladin’s Blade into my face, he broke free. As he retreated I flicked out a blade and nicked his other cheek.

“Poison, by the Divines,” he gasped. “You’ll never get away with this Telvanni scum.”

“Getting slow old man,” I sang out for the benefit of the crowd, closing to lock blades with Vatinius so I could hiss, “this stuff? I could pour it into your mouth in front of the crowd and they’d still not find a trace of it.”

Slashing his blade down into my shoulder, he cut me deeply before breaking off and stepping back. I saw his blade come up for a killing blow. Tumbling forward, I came up under his guard and drove both silver blades into the glistening scaled cuirass. One point skidded off but the other took him deep, catching just under the cuirass and slicing into his gut. Yanking the blade sideways, I enlarged the wound before ripping the blade free in a shower of bloody droplets. Dimly, from far away, I could hear the crowd roar its approval.

Mortally wounded, Vatinius staggered back a step, twisting to face the ducal box. I knew what he was about to claim and, even though the words I’d spoken were true, I couldn’t let him make the accusation. Summoning the last reserves of my strength, I leapt forwards and thrust out with both blades. There was a crunch as the right-hand blade punched into the back of his skull, the left-hand blade cutting deeply into the back of his neck. With a cough that sprayed the wall in front of us with blood, Vatinius pitched face down on the Arena floor.

There was a moment’s deathly silence and then the roar of the crowd broke over me like thunder. I couldn’t tell if it was roaring in approval or disapproval and, quite frankly, at that point I didn’t give a damn’.

Ordinators rushed in, two of them supporting me as I staggered out of the Pit and back to the preparation room, two lifting the dead body of Varus Vatinius. Meanwhile, two functionaries sprinkled fresh sand over the blood-soaked sand of the Arena.

“Thought you might want these Sed Telvanni Vahl,” an Ordinator said, dropping two wrapped bundles on the table as I sat there enduring the healing process from the potions I’d taken. “Bloody good fight,” he added as he turned to leave, “and one in the eye for those bleeding Dren.”

[Neck' Thall]

Awesom Override I love how she keeps taunting him all through the battle. Way better than mine.

[minque]

Ahhhhhh..........amazing description of the duel with Vantinius........my dear.....what a fight!

Were there any screenshots taken perhaps?



wow......

[Burnt Sierra]

Oh yes! OverrideB1 is back. Its been a while, but what a return.

Spectacular mate, just spectacular.

[OverrideB1]

As I unwrapped Chrysamere and the Lord’s Mail, I chuckled at the ironic situation I now found myself in. As Arch-Magister of Great House Telvanni I was nominally in charge of a group of Mer who hated and detested the empire and all it stood for and who would, without a moment’s hesitation, burn every Imperial structure (and Imperial) to the ground if they could see a route to power by doing so. On the other hand, I was now in charge of the Legion, Imperial Dragon Sudhendra Vahl ~ Knight Commander of his Imperial Majesty’s forces on Vvardenfell. And, as such, I was supposed to be guarding against and suppressing people of the very sort I represented.

There was one other thing delivered while I took a meal and recuperated. A curt, single line instructing Sudhendra Vahl to report to Balmora as expediently as possible. The signature, a scrawled ‘CC’ told me whom it was from. I had no problem with that, truth be told I knew that I had been putting off speaking to Caius Cosades for far too long while I pursued personal power. The sooner I dealt with whatever new nonsense the spymaster had a Cliff racer in his helmet about, the sooner I could get back to living my own life. And my plans for that were very definite: return to Tel Vahl and complete the fortifications there; spend the next several hundred years studying the application of magic, and perhaps the occasional foray into an interesting tomb or cave.

“So,” Cosades said when I presented myself at his squalid hovel just before the Twelfth Hour. “Seems you’ve been taking the idea of establishing a cover rather too far. What in the name of Oblivion were you thinking Apprentice, taking on the head of the Legion?”

Not so long ago such spontaneously aggressive behaviour would have disconcerted and rattled me. Hah! I’d duelled the head of the Legion, fought one of the deadliest and puissant Mages I’ve ever encountered, and faced down a Daedric Prince ~ not to mention assorted elementals, Daedra, Goblins and other equally unpleasant forces, and I’d spoken to Therana twice and lived to tell the tale. Yet here I still stood: scarred and bloodied but unbowed and undefeated. An irate Imperial spy barely even began to register.

“Living my life the way I want to, that’s what I was thinking Cosades,” I snapped with equal acerbity. “Not that I see it is any concern of yours.”

“Yes, well,” he said, taken aback by my ferocity. “There is still the matter of the Emperor’s orders concerning you. There is some additional information I need, and you are my only agent at the moment. You are to travel to Vivec City and seek out three contacts: it matters not which order you speak to them in.

“The first is Mehra Milo, a Temple priestess. You’ll find her in the Library of Vivec ~ that’s in the Hall of Wisdom. The second is a Suthay-Raht by the name of Addhiranirr. She will be difficult to find since she’s a Thieves Guild operative, however she seems to be based in the Saint Olms Canton. Lastly you’ll need to speak to an Argonian by the name of Huleeya. It can usually be found in the Black Shalk Cornerclub in the Foreign Quarter Canton.

“I want any information they have on the Nerevarine Cult,” he said, adding, “or on the Sixth House Cult. I’ve written your contact information here.” I took the sheet of parchment from Cosades and, with a look of pure contempt in his direction, crumpled the paper and threw it into the small hearth. Then, without a word, I stepped outside and opened a portal to Vivec City. Standing on the bridge leading into the Foreign Quarter Canton, I took several deep breaths to centre myself. I was annoyed with Cosades but allowing that to spill over into a clandestine mission wouldn’t be sensible.

Nor, for that matter, would parading around Vivec City in full Nordic armour. A handy rock nearby made an impromptu changing area and, a few moments later, I stepped out from behind the rock clad in a simple dark blue robe. Of course, not being a complete idiot, I still had my greaves and cuirass on under the voluminous garment. Nearest point first, I thought ~ so that means the Black Shalk. Making my way along the walkways and ramps of the Canton, I entered the Upper Waistworks and headed for the local hostelry.

The sound of a commotion was immediately audible when you stepped through the door. It echoed through the stone chambers of the Inn and seemed to be coming from the lower levels. Loud, raucous laughter exploded and I distinctly heard a voice say something about an ambulatory shield covering. My suspicions were confirmed when I went down the ramp into the lower area and found three burly Dunmer deriding an Argonian. Ignoring the thugs, I walked across to the Argonian and confirmed that this was, in fact, Huleeya.

“Hey lady,” one of the thugs slurred, grabbing me by the shoulder. “Why don’t you look for someone who can give you real pleasure?” I stared at the Mer until I was certain I had his full and undivided attention. Then I glanced down between us. His eyes followed and he blanched, trying to pull away. Holding him steady, I whispered into the cloud of Sujamma that surrounded him, saying, “we don’t want any trouble here do we?”

“No ma’am,” he gasped, staggering away as I released my grip. He and his friends, suddenly far more sober than they had been, bolted out of the door. It’s always surprising how many men will do anything you want when they realise just where you’re aiming that fireball. Dismissing the small sphere of roiling flame I’d held in my left hand, I turned to the Argonian. “What can you tell me of the Nerevarine or Sixth House cults?” I asked.

“No here,” it hissed. “Jobasha friend. Jobasha safe. There new friend talk Huleeya.” with a shrug, I turned and ascended the ramp and exited the Black Shalk ~ the faint scritch-scritch of the Argonian’s claws on stone telling me that Huleeya was following. We walked to Jobasha’s bookshop and, once inside, I broached the question again.

“Sixth House, Huleeya nothing knows,” the Argonian said. “But Nerevarine, yes. Careful now listen…” The Argonian proceeded to speak of the Nerevarine Cult. Much of it I didn’t understand although I wrote every hissing syllable into my notes. What I could gather, however, was that the cult had something to do with an ancient grievance between the Great Houses and the Ashlanders. The Argonian also suggested that I might find out more in a book entitled ‘The Progress of Truth’.

“Yes, Jobasha have a copy of this book,” the Suthay-Raht said. “Most popular.” We dickered over the price for a while and I soon found myself the proud owner of a sumptuously decorated, leather-bound volume. Taking my leave of the shop, I made my way down to the Canalside and got a gondola to the Temple Canton. Cutting across the bridge, I made my way to the plaza of Saint Olms and started searching.

[Neck' Thall]

Nice Update, Override, i like the low aimed fire ball...*Snigger* really good though i wonder how Casius will take the rudeness...

[Wolfie]

Nice update as always, but isn't it Mehra who tells you about The Progress of Truth?

[OverrideB1]

I’d made my way down into the upper Waistworks when I was accosted by an Imperial. “Pardon me for troubling you ma’am,” he said politely. “But I was wondering if you knew the whereabouts of a Khajiit named Addhiranirr? She and I have some business to complete.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied, “but I know of no one by that name.” He nodded his thanks and continued to wander around the Waistworks. Now wasn’t that interesting? Why would an Imperial have business with a Suthay-Raht ~ other than the obvious? And the Imperial had certainly exhibited no signs of Skooma addiction. Abandoning my search in the Waistworks, I headed down into the depths of the building. If I were in hiding from an inquisitive Imperial, my first instinct would be to disappear into the maze of sewer tunnels underneath the Canton.

“Addhiranirr I am,” the Khajiiti I’d encountered confessed. “But Addhiranirr no tell Dunmer anything about anything until IRS agent not here to seek Addhiranirr.” Imperial Revenue Service ~ that explained what business the Imperial had with the Khajiiti, unpaid taxes and lots of them.

“Suppose I were to get rid of the IRS agent?” I said. “Perhaps then we could talk?” Addhiranirr nodded uncertainly, eying my prominently displayed swords uneasily. “Get rid of as in made to go away, not cut into hunks of rotting flesh,” I reassured her.

“Excuse me Muthsera,” I said to the IRS agent, “but were you the Man looking for a Khajiiti?” he nodded eagerly and I told him, “I don’t know if that was her name but a Khajiiti just hired a gondola to take her to the docks. I think she was bound for Ebonheart and then the mainland.”

“Ma’am... Muthsera,” he corrected himself, “I am indebted to you.”

“Hehe-hehe,” Addhiranirr chuckled when I told her what had transpired. “That should IRS keep out of Addhiranirr’s fur for a while. What Dark Elf wanted to know?”

I explained that I was seeking information about the Nerevarine Cult of the Sixth House Cult. “Addhiranirr know nothing about either cults but Addhiranirr know something about Sixth House. Many, many smugglers smuggle crates into Vvardenfell for Sixth House. Big boasters these smugglers are. Yet all very, very quite about Sixth House they are. Makes Addhiranirr wonder, yes it does, what they smuggle that’s such secret.”

I thanked Addhiranirr for the information ~ I have a hunch that this is exactly the sort of information that Cosades was looking for. Making my way back topside, I crossed back to the Temple Canton and made my way into the Library of Vivec. Mehra Milo was easy enough to find ~ Cosades’ description of her copper-coloured hair had been spot on.

“Not here,” she hissed, “meet me at the back of the library in a few minutes.” That was fine by me, it gave me a chance to browse amongst the books ~ and a finer collection of books I’ve rarely seen. Working my way around the shelves I came, at last, to the small alcove at the back of the library. While I pretended to make notes from one of the volumes of Imperial history, Milo filled me in on the information she had.

“Listen carefully, I shall say this only once,” she murmured. “About the Sixth House cult I know nothing. But I can tell you this about the Nerevarine cult…” Mehra Milo proceeded to tell me that the Temple persecutes the cult because they claim the Temple worships false gods. In addition, the Temple disputes the dissident priests’ interpretation of the Nerevarine Prophecies. She suggested that I obtain a copy of ‘The Progress of Truth’. Mehra then told me that I could steal a copy from what she called ‘the secret library’ but suggested that it would be safer to purchase a copy. “Now stay there a while and keep scribbling notes,” she said.

After making notes from another couple of books, I went out onto the promenade and opened a passage to Balmora. Caius was pleased with my work and eagerly took my scribbled notes and the copy of the book. He rewarded me for a job well done, as he put it, with a promotion to the rank of Journeyman and two hundred Septims. He said he needed some time to study the notes and decide what had to be done next. He suggested that I return on the morrow for new orders.

Dura gra-Bol’s house would serve for the night, and made a secure place where I could study my own copies of my notes and the scribbled information I’d copied from the book. Not that I could make much sense of the information ~ most of it seemed contradictory. With a shrug, I locked the information away and retired to bed for the night.

CODE

A figure in a golden mask was talking to me, but I understood not a word he spoke. He seemed pleasant enough and smiled often. Yet, when he reached out to touch me, I recoiled in horror. I tried to escape from the candle-lit chamber but could find no door and, when I tried to cry out, I found I couldn’t make a sound. I thought the masked figure had cast a spell on me….

I awoke with a start, stifling a cry of fear. The dream had been particularly intense and very vivid but, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember how it had ended.

[Neck' Thall]

Nice ovverride...will Very interesting...now i gotta update mine...

[Lucidarius]

You are simply a master at writing good, immersive combat scenes. I'm talking about all these latest updates as well as in your former chapters. The scene with Edd Theman was a great addition for an Arch-Magister and fitted naturally in. Witty dialogue, too.

[OverrideB1]

I had spent a most unsettled night following the dream and was feeling irritable and out of sorts as I made my way over to the spymaster’s house. “‘Morning Vahl,” Cosades said, unconscionably cheerful at such an ungodly hour. “I have a small job for you today. Based on the notes you gave me yestere, I think I need to find out more about this dispute between the Great Houses and the Ashlanders.

“I know of an Ashlander in Ald’ruhn,” he continued. “Fellow by the name of Hassour Zainsubani. Left his tribe and became a successful trader. I’d like you to speak to him if you will and find out what you can about the Nerevarine Cult from a uniquely Ashlander perspective.”

I knew enough of the Ashlanders to know that I wouldn’t be welcome if I turned up empty handed and the usual ‘gift’ of coinage wasn’t likely to appease this Zainsubani if he was as wealthy as Cosades said. So I’d need to discover what his interests were and respond accordingly. Such were my thoughts as I opened a gateway and Void-Walked to Ald’ruhn. The ‘Rat-In-The-Pot’ wasn’t a likely venue for a rich trader so I headed over to the Ald Skar inn.

One of the patrons in the main bar told me I was likely to find Zainsubani in his room downstairs, or in the backroom with a book. I made my way down into the guest rooms where a quick search turned up a bed with a collection of books stacked beside it. Since it was the only bed with any books, I immediately knew what gift I should bring. There is only the one bookshop in Ald’ruhn: Collonus’. Codus confirmed that Hassour Zainsubani was a regular customer whenever he was in Ald’ruhn and, once he understood what I was after, he suggested a few titles. I knew that I hadn’t seen a copy of ‘Words of the Wind’ in Zainsubani’s room so I purchased a copy of that.

“Muthsera,” I said in a respectful tone of voice, “I would like to present you with this small token and request a boon.”

“Well,” the richly-clad Dunmer said in a whispery voice that betrayed his origins in the Ash Wastes, looking up from a book and taking the small volume from me, “this is most unexpected. You have, I think, spent time with the People?”

Recognising it as both a question and an invitation, I sat opposite the bearded Mer and confirmed that I had, indeed, had dealings with the Ashlanders. “Now, it was a boon you craved,” he said, “what can this unworthy one do for you?”

“I would like to know about the Nerevarine cult,” I said.

“Very well,” he said, sitting back in his chair and gesturing for the proprietor to bring us some Sujamma, “ask your questions and I will answer.”

Our discussion wasn’t limited to the Ashlander’s beliefs or the Nerevarine cult; Zainsubani and I spoke of many things ~ including my recent dreams and his fears about his son.

“Of your dreams I can say little,” the Ashlander said, “save that they are obviously powerful messages. I am, alas, unqualified to decipher such sendings but, if you can persuade one, a Wise-Woman might give you some answers.”

“Yes, I am afraid for my son’s safety,” he said. “I am too old to travel now… no, it’s true but you are kind to say so. My son, Hannat, went seeking a new source of Ebony in the underground caverns of Mamaea. He has not returned…”

“If I should meet your son in my travels,” I said, not so discreetly marking the location of Mamaea on my map, “I shall tell him you asked after him.”

“Tell him his father longs for news of his son and heir,” the Ashlander said. I nodded; I knew a code-phrase when I heard one. It was with some regret that I took my leave of the Ashlander merchant ~ he was excellent company and a well of useful information. I learned much about the customs of the Ashland tribes from him that morning.

Cosades was in a pensive mood after I’d delivered the information from Zainsubani, pacing back and forth in the tiny room he rented. Finally he turned to me and said, “It’s time you had some greater understanding of what is going on. Before I do that, I am pleased to promote you to the rank of Finder within His Imperial Majesty’s Blades. Now, what I am about to give you is the decoded orders you brought from Seyda Neen. Needless to say,” he added, handing over the oilskin package, “what you read here is highly classified and not to leave this room.”

I read the enclosed paper, feeling the blood drain from my face as I did so. What I was reading was pure insanity ~ proof positive of the rumours that Uriel Septim had gone insane. “Surely you can’t expect me to believe any of this… this… twaddle!” I exploded, throwing the package down on the table and scattering Moon Sugar everywhere. “It’s insane!”

“That’s what I thought at first,” Cosades said ruefully. “My initial reaction was that you were being used to distract attention from the Imperial presence here, a sort of lightning-rod to attract trouble…”

“Or a sacrificial Alit,” I snapped.

“Sadly also true,” Cosades admitted. “But it was an easy thing to arrange for the Empire ~ an Outlander, a Dunmer Outlander at that, born under the sigh of the Apprentice and of uncertain parents. That is to say, an orphan who never knew her real parents. You fit the details so well it was inevitable you’d be sent here to diffuse the situation.

“The problem is,” he continued, “that you fulfil the prophecy a little too well. And, according to the last communiqué I had from Cyrodiil City, the Emperor now believes that you may well be the genuine article.”

“Madness,” I whispered. “Pure, unadulterated madness.”

“Be that as it may,” Cosades said firmly, “my orders and yours are perfectly clear. You are to travel to the Urshilaku Camp, there to speak to the heads of the Nerevarine Cult ~ a warrior by the name of Sul-Matuul and the wise-woman Nibani Maesa. You are to tell them everything except the Empire’s involvement in this and ask to be tested against the Nerevarine Prophesies. When you’ve done that, you are to report back to me. By then I should have…”

“Listen!” I shouted, interrupting him. “I am me, not some reincarnation of a three millennia-dead Dunmer General.”

“Which is an interesting comment to make, Finder Vahl,” he said, squatting opposite me. “Tell me, how did you know that Nerevar was a General, and how did you know he’s been dead for three thousand years? Nothing in any of the notes you brought me said anything about that, and I’m damn’ certain I never mentioned it…”

This post has been edited by OverrideB1: Aug 19 2005, 04:56 PM

[Wolfie]

Hehe cool