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

[OverrideB1]

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.

[Fuzzy Knight]

Great! Very nice Override, keep this up! :lickinglips:

[jonajosa]

Last one was kinda short... But as long as it keep comin!

:goodjob:

[minque]

Oh yay.....another chapter, how wonderful...

This issue with Mr Vabdas was very amusing, I really liked it...so how will Ms Vahl handle this then? we will probably hear that soon...... :goodjob: :goodjob:

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“Hmmm,” General Darius said when I showed him the axe and told him what I had seen. “I doubt the word of a spirit would have any validity in this case Recruit. However, the axe I do recognise. It belongs to Trooper gro-Ogdum all right. Further more, I recognise the marks on the blade ~ those are what you get when an axe strikes bone.

“Very well, there is little doubt that this Mansilamat was murdered and less doubt that Lugrub gro-Ogdum was the murderer. One thing I cannot abide is a rogue soldier: this gro-Ogdum will have to pay and pay dearly. Bring justice to his miserable Orcish hide Recruit Vahl, bring it swiftly.”

I returned to the mine and made my way to the chamber the Orc was using. Kicking the drunken form, I snapped, “on your feet soldier.”

Swaying slightly and blinking blearily, the Orcish Trooper stood in front of me. “You have been judged guilty of the murder of Mansilamat Vabdas. Do you have anything to say before you are brought to justice?”

“I suppose me saying ‘I didn’t do it’ wouldn’t work would it?” the Orc asked, his right hand sliding down towards the sword hanging from his belt. “No, didn’t think so,” he rumbled when I shook my head. With sudden speed, he grabbed the hilt of his sword and started to draw it.

Quick as he was, I was quicker. “Dywyll chymylau, yn nadu bwrw eira, angheuol brythwch,” I yelled, taking a step backwards as the Orc’s sword hissed through the air. The air darkened and flakes of frozen water swirled around the suddenly shivering Orc. As the temperature plummeted still further, a rime of frost appeared on Lugrub’s body. Even protected as I was by the powerful enchantments against cold that Jaron had woven into the gloves and robe I wore, I couldn’t suppress a shiver as a distinctive cracking sound issued forth from the swirling column of dark air that surrounded the Orc.

“Nasty business that,” General Darius said when I returned to the Tradehouse, “can’t have soldiers going round killing civilians during peacetime.” Then he surprised me. “Here’s a bag of gold and a letter for the widow of Mansilamat Vabdas. The letter tells her she’d entitled to a pension and the gold is that pension backdated to when Vabdas was murdered. I want you to deliver them.

“Oh, and here’s a little something from the Legion by way of a thank you,” he added as he handed me an Imperial broadsword. Shaking my head, I took the papers and money over to the widow’s hut. She was as surprised as I had been.

When I got back to the Madach Tradehouse, General Darius was standing by his desk, looking at several sheets of parchment. When I snapped to attention, he carefully rolled them up and returned them to his desk. “Seems strange to me,” he said carefully, “that Lugrub gro-Ogdum froze to death right there in the mine. I guess you might have had something to do with that. Anything you’d like to tell me Recruit?”

With equal care, I replied, “Sir, I have some training in the magical arts, sir.”

He nodded. Going to the large cupboard near his desk, he unlocked it and fetched out a large rectangular shield. Slightly curved, and made of metal-covered wood, I recognised it immediately as the standard Imperial Legion shield. “Legion needs people like you Recruit,” General Darius said. “You’ll find me not ungenerous when it comes to promotion. Effective immediately, you are given a field commission to the rank of Trooper. Here…” With that, he handed me the shield before returning to the desk.

“Now, this magical training of yours Trooper…” he said as he sat down, “…does it include any skills in the School of Restoration?”

“Sir, yes sir,” I replied, adding, “I have knowledge of several curative spells…”

“Yes, yes,” he interrupted. “Don’t understand all that mumbo-jumbo myself,” he said, “give me a decent sword and a charger ~ that’s the way to fight, not all this hand-waving stuff. Still, got to admit it comes in handy sometimes.

“Don’t know what you know about Gnisis,” he continued, “but the Egg-Mine here feeds a lot of people, keeps them in work too. Now the Mine has had to be locked up and the lower levels guarded…”

“Sir, because of the blight, sir,” I said.

“Right,” he said, looking surprised. “Since you know something about this magical stuff, I want you to go in there and cure the Kwama Queen. Head chappie in the village sells scrolls that cure blight; you can get one of those. Suppose you can draw funds from the contingency funds.”

“Sir, won’t need a scroll, sir,” I replied. He looked surprised again, and then nodded curtly. Taking that as a dismissal, I left his ‘office’ and made my way back up to the mine. Curing the Queen was a simple matter of ‘hand-waving mumbo-jumbo’ as Darius would have put it. There were far more interesting things down in the Egg-Mine than a blighted Queen. Off the Queen’s chamber ran a series of tunnels that dead-ended at a deep, underground stream. On the other side was a very familiar shape.

Levitating across the chasm, I made my way up to the Dwemeri door and traced the symbols that were embossed into the surface. If I was reading it correctly, the name of these ruins was Bethamez. The door hadn’t been opened for a while ~ possibly not since the disappearance of the Dwemer ~ but it creaked open when I pushed. Beyond the door was a ruin: in more senses than the usual.

At some point in the remote past, a massive cave-in had sealed all but a tiny proportion of Bethamez behind tonnes of impenetrable rock. Only the antechamber and a small area of the room beyond that were accessible: and even there rocks had crushed and covered much that might have been of value. The only thing I found was a book, protected from the ravages of time by the heavy metal table it lay under. The script inside the book was beyond anything I could translate but the title ~ ‘Divine Metaphysics’ ~ was written in Altmeric script.

General Darius gave me a hundred Septims when I reported back to him. Taking back the chain cuirass he’d given me that very morning, he presented me with a much better quality steel cuirass that was more befitting my rank as Trooper. The money, he explained, was the difference between my starting pay and the pay for my new rank ~ plus a little something extra for solving the problem at the mine.

It was in a very puzzled state of mind that I returned to Tel Vahl. Most military personnel that I’ve met have been complete and utter bastards, ruthless to the core. Yet General Darius seemed a genuinely pleasant Man ~ oh, he was a proper martinet but, underneath it all, he seemed was quite decent in his fumbling military way. The awarding of the pension to Vabdas’ widow had been a real revelation and I understood that was why his troops were so fanatically loyal to the Man. An object lesson ~ and one I intended to take fully to heart.

[Fuzzy Knight]

Ahh great Override! :goodjob:

[Wolfie]

cool

[Aki]

[quote]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?” [/quote]



Funny. ^_^

[OverrideB1]

General Darius was in a pensive mood this morning and I soon found out the reason why. “Pilgrim taken hostage by a group of Ashlanders near Ald Velothi,” he said in his usual curt manner. “Not a good thing, what? Anyway Trooper Vahl, I want you to go to Ald Velothi, rescue the pilgrim ~ name’s Madura Seran by the way ~ sort out these Ashlander chappies; teach them the error of their ways and all that.

“Word of warning,” he added. “Ashlanders not very happy about the Legion tramping through areas they consider theirs. Might be a good idea to keep the slaughter to a minimum: other words, no killing unless necessary.”

I snapped off a crisp salute, which General Darius returned, and marched out of the Madach Tradehouse. Ald Velothi wasn’t that far away as the Cliff-racer flies but I didn’t intend to levitate all the way there. Instead I headed out past Arvs-Drelen and up to the point where the Old Guar Trail started. I knew the way from there but on a whim, I decided to head the long way around. Not having to cross those rickety bridges was a great relief.

I made quite good time, despite the unaccustomed weight of the shield, and soon came to a very familiar spot. The pool was smooth and serene and the only sign of my previous struggle here was the broken pieces of Chitin armour scattered near the rocks. There was no sign of either of the bodies. With a shrug, I continued on my way, eventually arriving at the small township of Ald Velothi.

A few inquiries among the guards soon gave me the information I was looking for: Madura Seran was, despite her Meric name, an adherent of the Cult of Julianos and had been ‘passing through’ Ald Velothi on her way to the Imperial Chapel at Ebonheart. The Ashlanders of the Aidanat Camp had kidnapped her and were demanding five hundred Septims ransom. Since I hadn’t been given any money, I guessed that simply paying the ransom wasn’t an option.

“I’m here to discuss the release of the captive,” I told one of the gloriously be-feathered women outside the traditional Ashlander yurt that sat on a hill to the south of Ald Velothi. I was rewarded with a curt instruction to speak to Abassel Asserbassakit, who was inside the crude hut.

“Five hundred,” Asserbassakit repeated when I offered him a lower sum to secure Seran’s release, “take it or leave it Outlander. No negotiations.”

“Why do you think anyone would pay five hundred Septims to secure her release,” I asked, “she’s just a poor pilgrim.”

“That’s what I keep telling them,” Seran squeaked indignantly.

“Five hundred,” the Ashlander repeated.

“Look…”

“Five Hundred,” he interrupted, glowering at me.

I sighed, so much for diplomacy. It never was my strong point anyway. Glancing over at the pilgrim, I made a suggestion, “duck.”

“Wha…” she started to say. I glared at her and she suddenly got the point and, with a small cry of “oh!” dived for cover. Asserbassakit never knew what hit him, although I did since I was the one who cast the fireball. The glowing sphere of fiery energy exploded against his chest, picking the burly Mer up off his feet and throwing him into the side of the yurt. He was so busy trying to extinguish the flames licking at his robes that he never even saw me step forward, Imperial broadsword raised. There was a swishing noise that ended in a meaty thud as I severed his spinal cord.

His pitiful screams were cut short as the blade descended a second time, this blow completing the job of separating his head from his torso. The flap of the tent was ripped open and the two Ashlanders from outside struggled to get through the small opening at the same time. Unfortunately for the male of the pair, he was first through. The upward blow of the broadsword disembowelled him quite neatly while the back-slash opened his throat from ear to ear. The woman took one look at the two dead bodies and smiled a sickly smile.

“You want the pilgrim?” she said frantically as I advanced towards her, “take her. Take her and go.”

“So kind of you,” I said, stepping to the side and using the remnants of the flap to wipe my sword clean. Sliding it back into the plain leather sheath, I extended a hand to Madura Seran and said, “Shall we go?”

She took my hand nervously, and I led her outside and down to the Tradehouse. Still looking at me nervously, she stammered a few words of thanks before darting inside and slamming the door. With a wry smile at one of the Redoran guards, I opened a path back to Gnisis and made my way to the Madach Tradehouse.

General Darius was impressed; although I’m not sure whether it was with my improving sword skill or the fact I hadn’t killed all of the Ashlanders. “That was neatly done,” he said. “I was going to give you a reward of a few Septims but I think that you deserve a promotion. Take this chitty to the quartermaster in the garrison ~ he will issue you with a helm and some gauntlets. When you’ve done that, report back to me Agent Vahl.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” I replied.

“No need for that any more Agent,” General Darius said, “a simple Sir will suffice.”

The quartermaster, a massively muscled Orc, peered at the chitty and then vanished behind his counter. Bobbing back up, he placed several helmets on the counter along with a pair of steel gauntlets. “One them fit,” he rumbled. One of the helmets did, indeed, fit but I requested a slightly larger size of gauntlet. This allowed me to keep on the gloves that Jaron had given me as well as my ‘standard’ uniform.

“Understand you’ve been into Arvs-Drelen,” General Darius said, “more importantly, you’ve come out of Arvs-Drelen. The wizard Demnevanni lives in there, decent enough chappie, never much trouble. However, we’ve… well, lost one of our tax-gatherers. Ragash gra-Shuzgub went into the tower, never came out. Wondered if you’d like a word with the owner?”

[minque]

Very nice and neat handling of this task...our little lady has learnt some manners by now but still is a telvanni at heart!




[quote] Asserbassakit never knew what hit him, although I did since I was the one who cast the fireball.[/quote] :lmao: soo funny! Typical Sudhendr-ish

[Wolfie]

cool
keep up the good work :goodjob:

[Fuzzy Knight]

Hehe, nice :goodjob:

[OverrideB1]

“I’ll have a word with Mast… the wizard, sir,” I said, silently cursing at myself for nearly calling him ‘Master Demnevanni’. General Darius might give the appearance of a bumbling military idiot, first-class, but he was anything but. With a smart salute, I turned and left Darius’ office ~ aware that he was looking at me in a very speculative manner.

‘Pot’ firmly on my head, shield slung over my arm, and cuirass gleaming, I marched into Arvs-Drelen and navigated the corridors to Baladas’ chambers.

“Well look at you,” he chortled, walking around me as I stood there. “Quite impressive I must say.” We looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing. After a while, Baladas wiped his eyes and said, “Well, I’m guessing that you didn’t come here just to show off your fashionable uniform…”

“What do you know of a Ragash gra-Shuzgub?” I asked.

“Had the bloody cheek to come to me asking for taxes,” he snarled, his face going flushed. “Me, who was here before this… this… empire of Men with their taxes. I refused to pay and, when the Orc persisted, I stuck her in the cell downstairs.”

“Ahh,” I said. “See, there’s a problem there. The Empire expects all its citizens to pay taxes, regardless. However, I think I can promise that you’ll not be bothered for taxes again.” Baladas looked at me flatly for a moment, and then nodded and fetched a large iron key from his desk. As I turned to leave, he said, “By the by Arch-Magister, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about an Argonian named Miles Durango would you?”

“Why, should I?” I asked, biting my bottom lip.

Baladas snorted laughter, “thought as much,” he said. “He had a glass dagger belonging to me. I had to… ahh, discipline him about it.”

“Oh dear,” I said sweetly, “I hope you weren’t too harsh on him.” Baladas got that twinkle in his eye and went over to a set of shelves nearby. From it he fetched a glass globe – inside of which was a tiny figure: if you squinted really hard, you could just see that it was an Argonian. “That’s an awfully good likeness,” I said.

“Not an image my dear,” Baladas said, shaking the globe. I fancied I could hear a tiny, indistinct scream as the figure tumbled around the inside. I nodded, and raised my eyes to meet Baladas’: he was regarding me coolly, obviously making a salient point. Time, I thought, to make a point of my own.

Taking the glass globe from his hand, I took off my glove and focused the skills that Jaron had honed ~ pouring the power into the globe. With a smile, I handed it back to him. He gasped as his fingers struck the icy-cold surface, tears springing to his eyes as the globe, so cold it burned flesh, adhered to his hand. Calmly I took the globe and allowed the spell to dissipate before holding it up in my ungloved hand in front of Baladas. He grinned sheepishly, taking the globe and setting it on the desk. “Point taken Arch-Magister,” he conceded.

Ragash was only too pleased to allow me to escort her out of the tower. When we got outside, I had a few words for her. “It was unwise to go and see Demnevanni about taxes, unwise and dangerous.”

“He has to pay,” she protested gruffly, “everybody does.”

“True,” I said, “but then not everybody can turn you into a Guar if you annoy them too much.”

“He wouldn’t dare turn me into something… unnatural,” she gasped.

“He dared to lock you up didn’t he?” I asked. She gave me a worried look and scurried off. General Darius was amused by the way I’d dealt with the matter and scribbled a note that he said would be delivered by his most diplomatic officer: exempting Baladas from paying taxes. ‘For the general good of the local populace’ was how he phrased it.

“I have a different task for you,” he said. “Come to my attention that some of the chaps dabbling in the Cult of Talos are, perhaps, getting a little out of hand. Some sort of conspiracy going on, don’t know what. It’s all rather sordid and distasteful to my mind. Sort it out for me would you?”

Well, that was a barrelful of trouble, and no mistake. Still, I was generally quite liked by the troopers ~ well, the non-Orcish ones anyway ~ so I might be able to charm some information out of them. With that in mind, I went to the mess hall and got myself some lunch.

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” a deep voice rumbled. Looking up I saw Trooper Din standing by my table. “Is this seat free?”

I nodded and he sat down. We got talking and he told me he was career army, signed on for the long haul (35 years). I explained that I had signed on for a short-term career, just to teach myself some useful skills. Eventually, I managed to manoeuvre the conversation around to the Talos Cult.

“Oritius Maro is the person to see,” Din said uneasily. I asked him if there was a problem. After a moment’s thought, he said, “there’s something going on. Closed meetings, cultists getting together at odd times… I don’t like it,” he added. “That sort of thing leads to trouble, mark my words.” Glancing around, he leaned in and whispered a single word before getting up and walking away, most of his meal uneaten.

I finished my meal in silence, turning down several offers to join various groups. I was considering what Din had whispered, the word “mutiny”. While it wouldn’t bother me overly if the Legion tore itself to pieces, there was another matter to consider. And that was what the Empire’s response was likely to be. Even at the most optimistic, the Empire was likely to strike back quite hard. And that wouldn’t be good for the House. So, I thought, scraping the remains of the meal into the bin, Oritius Maro.

“Well, if you’re at all interested,” the florid-faced Man said, “you should see Arius Rulician down in the Shrine. It can do a soldier’s career the power of good, belonging to the Cult.”

“Tell me about the Cult,” I said. He smiled and proceeded to launch into a lengthy monologue about Talos, or Emperor Septim the First. Long story, short: The Cult of Emperor Zero worships and venerates Septim I as a sort of living avatar. I’d heard stories of this, Talos the Ninth Divine, back on the mainland but never paid much attention. Maro went on to explain that the Cult was very much like a guild in as much as it looked after its own. “And,” he concluded, “there are some very highly placed officers who belong to the Cult.”

Arius Rulician was the complete anti-thesis of Mero. Tall where Mero was short, thin where Mero was rotund, with a long, thin face that wore a habitual frown. Despite his pleasant greetings when I entered the shrine, he was obviously annoyed about something. “We’re always on the lookout for new cultists,” he said, “take a look around and see if you like what you see.”

The shrine was unremarkable as Cult shrines go ~ a large tapestry behind a votive altar. Rows of small seats and prayer-stools. ‘Holy’ artefacts on the altar ~ an ancient metal gauntlet and a broadsword in this case. The only thing that struck me as odd was the ornately carved stone box that sat in the middle of the altar. Having taken a look around, I thanked Rulician and said I was due on duty shortly but, when I finished, I’d be back to discuss joining the cult.

As soon as I was out of his sight, I donned the ring and activated the Shadow-Weave spell. Then, invisible to the naked eye, I stepped back into the shrine. It was the work of but a moment to shatter the lock of the casket and take the contents: a tightly rolled parchment.

General Darius threw the parchment down onto his desk in disgust, his face as dark as a thundercloud. “Traitorous, disloyal dogs,” he spat. “Planning to assassinate the Emperor. Deal with them Vahl,” he added, venomously, “You have my full authority.”

“Fall in, single file!” I thundered, stepping into the barracks and slapping the General’s baton against my leg. “Look lively now.” When everyone was lined up, I stood in front of them and said, “Right, anyone who’s not a traitor to Uriel Septim, take one step backwards. Not so fast you two,” I said, pointing at Mero and Rulician. Ashen-faced, they returned to their original position.

“These two,” I said, pointing at the pair ~ one short and round, the other tall and thin ~ “are plotting to assassinate the Emperor when he visits Vvardenfell. I have the evidence here…” I held up the parchment so that they could all see it “…in my hand. Now, Mero and Rulician have been here a while ~ the Divines alone know how many others they’ve convinced to take part in this cowardly plot. All those unwilling to bring Imperial justice to these traitors on the left side of the room, those loyal to the Empire to the right.”

Not surprisingly, there was a sudden stampede to stand on the right-hand side of the room. “Any last words?” I asked Mero and Rulician. Rulician shook his head.

“Well, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into, Arius,” Oritius Mero snapped as I ordered the assembled soldiers to draw their swords. As the ‘loyal’ soldiers meted out Imperial justice, I took my leave of the barracks and returned the baton to General Darius. He shared my conviction that there were still traitors to be weeded out, but he was willing to leave that to the ‘appropriate authorities’ ~ which, I guessed, would be Caius Cosades.

“I have new orders for you,” General Darius said. “You are to report to Fort Moonmoth on the morrow. There you will be given officer training and advanced combat training before reporting to Radd Hard-Heart.”

[minque]

oh how amusing....just imagine little braveheart Sudhendra standing amongst all those sturdy legionnaires commanding them this or that...

I can just see it.....


mooooore please....

[Wolfie]

hehe what's gonna happen to Baladas' hand now? that must be a nasty injury lol

[OverrideB1]

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.

[Wolfie]

Lol i had forgotten she hadn't done any Blades missions yet

[minque]

[quote]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.” [/quote]

Wonderful! simply wonderful....you make old Caius seem like an old whining fart.....I laughed out loud reading this.....

:goodjob:

[jonajosa]

So we see your version of caius... Well hes great. Still the same messed up man i always thought he was. Execept now hes got more dialog! and its really good.

:goodjob:

[OverrideB1]

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.”