The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Power, You've Got It, I Want It! Options

[minque]

what´s normal? hehe for me Override´s stories come just fine

[OverrideB1]

I’ve spent the last two days hunting down jars of truffles: which is, I’ll admit, a step up from tracking down bottles of Skooma. When I took the elemental essences back to Jaron, he asked me to bring him four jars of this smelly black fungus ~ it seems that he has quite a taste for it. Since truffles are not native to Vvardenfell, he suggested that I’d probably find some in the wrecks of cargo ships. While I was gone, he was going to enchant a robe for me as promised.

I’d known of a couple of wrecks ~ one out by Seyda Neen, a couple up in the Sheogorad region, and another somewhat east of Sadrith Mora. I also found a couple of wrecks that I hadn’t known about whilst island-hopping up in Sheogorad. I’d found several interesting things in the various wrecks and that was why I was travelling to Balmora.

“So that’s what happened to my shipment,” Drarayne Thelas said when I handed her the bill of lading I’d found in an abandoned shipwreck. “They were very nice pillows those,” she added unhappily, “stuffed with the finest quality goose feathers from Alclaire. Still, I suppose you deserve something for setting my mind at rest.” To my complete lack of surprise, Drarayne gave me a pillow. “That’s the very best pillow I have,” she told me, “you’ll be surprised how comfortable it is.”

Thanking her for the gift, I opened a pathway to the small island where Jaron whiled away his days and presented him with the truffles. “Excellent, hehe, most excellent,” he said as he opened a jar and sampled the contents. “Now, here is your robe as promised and, as a special reward for finding me these delicacies, I’ll teach you a final spell.”

“Final spell?” I asked, taking the pale blue robe from him.

“I’m afraid so,” he replied. “I, erm, I’m moving somewhat closer to Caldera, hehe, for reasons I’m sure you understand. But, before I go, there is one last task I’d like you to undertake. Some years ago, I taught someone else spells of similar power to those I’ve taught you. His name is Graznik Kator and you’ll find him in the shrine east of Molag Mar. He stole my staff, and I want it back before I move.”

I went back to Molag Mar and asked several questions ~ eventually discovering that the ruin Jaron had spoken of was called Almurbalarammi and that it was just a short way from the city over the mountains. Using the amulet that Turedus had given me, I was able to levitate from Molag Mar ~ starting down by the docks – up and over the mountain and down onto the short beach that led from the shoreline to the ruined shrine. Frankly, the shrine looked no more ruined or abandoned than any other Daedric shrine I’ve seen so I approached it with care in case there were any Dremora lurking about. I spotted a Scamp as I approached the door, but I was able to slip inside before the creature registered my presence.

As I stood at the top of the stairs, looking down into the ruin’s main chamber, I contemplated wrapping myself in a cloaking spell but I thought better of it. Squaring my shoulders and drawing the Wish, I descended the stairs and entered the main chamber. Graznik spotted me the instant I stepped into the room and, with a roar, ordered his minions to attack.

The three onrushing figures hesitated: rather than retreating I was advancing on their position, the curved blade of the Wish humming eagerly as it clove the air in intricate patterns as I prepared to do battle. “Its just one adventurer,” Graznik shouted, “what are you waiting for?”

I batted aside the half-hearted sword thrust, whipping the Wish back in a vicious arc that made the Chitin-clad Breton yelp and scurry backwards. Ducking under a wildly swung quarterstaff, I kicked the wielder in the stomach ~ making the harsh-featured Dunmeri woman gasp. With the two lesser attackers momentarily distracted, I closed on the Nord – he was wielding a massive and ornate sword. It was him I needed to deal with first since he was, quite clearly, the most skilled of the combatants.

“Mugio Ego Suspicio,” I intoned, extending a hand towards the Nord. There was a sparkle of light and he suddenly came to a standstill, looking very confused. Pressing my advantage, I hammered the blade of my axe into his chest, denting the steel armour he wore. A second blow tore the heavy armour, making him grunt. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he whipped the massive blade around instinctively. I screamed as the edge bit into my upper arm, blood flowing copiously from the wound almost immediately.

Things would have gone badly for me then, but Graznik was impatient. Raising the staff he bore, he chanted something I didn’t quite catch and extended his arms in my direction. There was a massive explosion of sound and energy and I found myself thrown across the chamber like a doll, wreathed in flickering lightning. The Nord caught most of the spell, demonstrating that steel armour isn’t a wise thing to wear when lightning-based spells are being thrown around. In fact, I have long suspected that it was only the steel armour he wore that saved my life that day ~ acting as a conduit for the worst of the spell’s energy.

I scrambled for cover behind one of the stone pillars as Graznik unleashed another storm of a spell, the massive buttress I was hiding behind shaking with the sheer power of it. I risked a glance at the heavily armoured Graznik – taking particular notice of the staff he was carrying. It was hard to see the staff itself, as the whole length of it was wrapped around with flickering lightning. Taking a deep breath to steady myself against the pain, I spoke the words that Jaron had taught me that morning, “chan annwfns fferedig asgre.”

The temperature in the shrine plummeted as the spell exploded outwards, howling icy winds whipping around the interior as huge shards of ice were thrown around like leaves in a storm. I watched as an icicle as long as a spear tore through the Breton’s armour in a huge gout of blood and gore. The Dunmeri woman had developed a waxy sheen to her skin and was standing frozen in mid-step. Only Graznik survived that frozen oblivion storm and even he looked shaken.

As I took a pinch of the powder that Jaron had prepared and cast it on the ground, I became aware of a chill of my own. I was still bleeding badly and I knew that I had to finish this as quickly as I could. Summoning the Ice Elemental, this one taking the form of a very normal-looking Man, took every ounce of strength I had, draining my magical reserves totally. The tall, blue-robed figure looked down at me – his, or rather its, eyes the colour of a frozen lake. A pale hand extended and, as I watched, a mist formed in the palm. As the mist solidified, it took on the form of a sword. With a howl, the elemental threw itself at Graznik.

I had no intention of sitting, or lying, idly by while the elemental fought Graznik. Dragging my pack towards me I first took a healing potion ~ this would repair most of the damage I had suffered ~ before hauling out the crossbows and loading them. Rising carefully, I took aim with the crossbow and fired. The blot flew true, eliciting a howl of pain from the Theurgist as the bolt embedded itself into his shoulder. The second bolt took him high in the left arm, smashing the elbow and causing him to drop his staff.

With the Mage now badly injured, I joined the fray: wading into combat with the Wish singing its dirge of death as it hummed through the air. Again and again the axe and the elemental’s sword crashed against the heavy armour the Theurgist wore until, finally, a lucky blow breached the defences and did some critical damage. As the ice elemental fluttered and faded from view, I hefted the Wish one last time and faced my opponent. He grinned, a bloody baring of the teeth, as he drew a short sword.

With a crash, the blades met: more by luck than design I managed to trap the short-sword in the concave curves of the axe’s underside, forcing it downwards. Howling gleefully, I slashed the Wish back across Graznik’s exposed face, crushing bone and tearing skin. The Theurgist took a step backwards and I pressed home my advantage. Unable to see me with the blood pouring down his face, Graznik couldn’t stop the final blow: it took him in the throat, tearing it open and exposing bone. With a gurgling cry, the Theurgist toppled backwards and started threshing on the floor.

With a shaky sigh, I took several steps away from the now stilled corpse before sinking slowly to my knees.

It was about an hour later when I recovered sufficiently to start moving about. I still felt like Guar-dung and I was bleeding from several wounds that needed fairly prompt attention. However, I did feel much fitter than I had, despite my injuries. I also had the sneaking suspicion that I was a little smarter than I had been. I was certainly luckier: a search of Almurbalarammi turned up a small stash of 100-Septim coins, several quite powerful scrolls, and, of course, Graznik’s staff.

Made of some greyish-blue metal, it stood about two-thirds as tall as I did. The bottom of the staff was narrow ~ almost a stabbing point I thought as I looked at it. Partway up was a grip, made of leather decorated with fine silver stitching. The head of the staff was precisely that ~ a grotesque and leering face decorated the top of the staff. Of the flickering lightning that had previously been playing around the staff there was no sign. Reaching down, I picked it up from where it lay. As my fingers closed around it, a faint white glow formed around the head, slowly extending down the length of the staff until the whole thing was wreathed in a misty blue-white glow. The power of the staff was scary; I fancied I could hear my mental muscles protesting as the amplifying power of the Elemental Staff of Channelling thundered into me.

[OverrideB1]

Despite Raissu Asserbas fussing over me, several healing potions, and almost twelve hours sleep, I could still feel the effects of the fight against Graznik. With a sigh, I cast Recall and returned to the small islet that Jaron called home.

“No,” he said when I proffered the staff, “I think, perhaps, that you should keep it. I won’t be needing it.” For the first time I noticed that there were several large crates stacked outside the rude hut. “My time is coming to an end, the tale of Jaron Scorchblot is almost done. I have decided to travel to Necrom instead of Caldera to while away my final years.” He grinned, adding, “largely thanks to you, Neela is coming to Necrom with me. Now it’s time for you to forge your own legend… Theurgist Vahl.”

I returned to Tel Vahl, my thoughts despondent. I had learned some very powerful magic while an apprentice to Jaron. More than enough, I fancied, to make me a match for most sorcerers. However, push had now come to shove and I was faced with a decision I didn’t want to make. I asked Baladas and Dratha to meet me at Tel Vahl for lunch and a discussion.

You may recall me lamenting my poor fighting skills whilst under Mournhold. Magic is all well and good but, when the magicka reserves run low and there’s no restorative potion to be had: there are few substitutes for a well-trained sword-arm.

The problem is, there are very few places where one can get suitable training in these skills. Great House Redoran, of course, trains its retainers in all forms of combat. Somehow, I didn’t think that the Arch-Magister of Great House Telvanni would be welcome at their training sessions.

The other obvious choice was the Guild of Fighters. The problem there was that the Guild was riddled with supporters of the Camonna Tong and, after my little escapade in the Balmora Council Club, I had a feeling that the only lesson I’d get from the Guild would be the last lesson I’d ever learn.

That left one possibility, and it was something I very much wished to discuss with the only two people I almost trusted…

“You want to do what…” Baladas spluttered when I told him what I was planning. “With all due respect Arch-Magister that’s… that’s… the single most insane idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Hold,” Dratha said, putting down her fork and looking at me curiously. “While I may not feel as strongly about the idea as Baladas, I must admit that it seems… odd. Perhaps you could explain your reasoning, Ser Vahl?”

“The Legion provides excellent training,” I said. “The Legionnaires are, quite rightly, considered one of the finest fighting-forces on Tamriel. Consider the effect that our House Guards would have if they had knowledge of Legion tactics and had had Legion training. In addition, I still hold my position as an Imperial citizen and I am not well known as House Telvanni to most other Imperial citizens. That would allow me access to the Legion recruiters. How useful would it be for the House to have advance knowledge of Legion movements, planned attacks, or areas of interest?”

Dratha was almost rubbing her hands together in glee as the possibilities occurred to her. “If you rise to high enough rank, which I have little doubt you will do Arch-Magister,” she added, “consider the chaos you could cause by issuing conflicting orders.”

“Hmmm,” Baladas said, “the idea does have some little merit I suppose.”

“Believe me,” I assured him, “I have no greater love of the Legion than you do. However, I think that Legion training will be a benefit to me…”

“…And whatever benefits the Arch-Magister, benefits the House,” Baladas interrupted. “Well, I hear that General Darius is looking for a few good Mer to bolster the garrison at Gnisis. That might be a good place to start Arch-Magister. At least, that way, you have a place you know will be safe nearby.”

[size=18]Here Ends the Sixth Part of the tale of Sudhendra Vahl

[Fuzzy Knight]

Great! :goodjob: Cant wait for the next part! :lickinglips:

[Wolfie]

I wanna see her screw around with the Legion lol