The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Vehk's Path Options

[OverrideB1]

When I awoke this morning, I was certainly feeling the effects of my fight with Gothren and the Clan Berne. Every single bone in my body seemed to ache and the fatigue I felt screamed in every fibre of my being. Wearily, I opened a portal to Sadrith Mora and translocated to the market square. Llunela took possession of the book eagerly, summoning one of her seemingly inexhaustible supply of messengers to take it to Baladas Demnevanni immediately. “If you’ll pardon me for saying so Sed Vahl,” she said, after examining me for a moment, “but you don’t seem to be very well.”

“It’s been a hard few days,” I responded. “The fight with Gothren wasn’t easy and somebody neglected to mention that Galom Daeus was crawling with vampires.”

She bit her lip and bowed her head, “I beg your forgiveness Arch-Magister,” she said contritely and formally, “I was unaware that vampires had made Galom Daeus their lair.”

“It’s of no consequence Llunela,” I told her firmly, “what is done is done, and there’s no need to make a fuss about it.”

“Thank you Sudhendra,” she said, relief coming off her like steam. “Have you used a large number of healing spells and potions recently?” she suddenly asked. When I confirmed that this was so, she nodded as if in understanding. “I thought as much. Scrolls, potions and spells can only repair so much damage and they consume a lot of the body’s resources to do so. Perhaps a visit to the Imperial Cult shrine up at Wolverine Hall is in order. Or, if you wish to avoid the Imperials, there are a number of very effective healers in Temple.”

“The Temple?” I asked, remembering the large structures in Balmora and Gnisis. “Do you really think that they can help?”

“I’m sure of it Sed Vahl,” she replied. She promised to keep me apprised of the progress on my stronghold while I made preparations to visit the Temple in Balmora.

It was with fairly mixed feelings that I mounted the sweeping stairs that led to the enclosed Balmoran Temple. On the whole, I tended to avoid religious organisations: mostly because the beating that my foster-father administered were so often given in the name of Stendarr, or Mara, to hammer the sin out of me. Don’t get me wrong, the Imperial Cults have done some sterling work but I was leery of them nonetheless. And this… foreign cult that seemed to dominate so much of Vvardenfell? I knew very little of it other than it controlled the Ordinators and wielded a great deal of power.

“Greetings traveller,” the soft voice of a robed and hooded priest sounded strangely harsh in the austere surrounding of the Temple building. Everybody knew about alien religions: the bizarre graven images, the strange behaviour, the wild chanting to unspeakable gods. Aside from a few wall-hangings and a strange circular pit set into the floor, the building was bereft of the trappings I’d expected. Indeed, the Temple was more austere than any Cult building I’d been in: the only oddity a triangular obelisk with engraved images on the front that stood in one corner. “How may we help you?” the priest continued.

I explained my situation in broad terms, leaving out my position as head of Great House Telvanni since I wasn’t certain what frictions might, or might not, exist between House and Temple. I really shouldn’t have bothered ~ I’d forgotten how gossipy the natives of this small island were, and just how quickly news can travel. “Of course we can help Sed Vahl,” the priest responded.

He led me over to the plinth I’d noticed earlier, asking me for a small donation to maintain the Temple. I handed over twenty-five Septims and, following his instructions, placed my hands on the cool stone and repeated his words, “May the blessings of ALMSIVI wash over me. May the strength of their power cleanse and heal me. May the light of their wisdom guide me now and in all things. The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.”

I gasped as a great power flooded into me, almost blinded by the brilliant sparks that swirled around me. I felt the bone-weariness fall away and the ache I’d woken with dissipate and vanish. Dropping my contact with the stone, I looked at the priest and smiled, “That was amazing.”

“Indeed,” the priest said. Then, in that soft accusative tone that priests seem to specialise in when speaking to their wayward flock, he added, “It has been many years since a member of Great House Telvanni saw fit to grace the Temple with their presence.” Pushing back the cowl of his robe to reveal a strong and handsome face, he added, “Their absence has often been noted by Temple hierarchy and commented upon. The poor grace with which missionaries are greeted in Telvanni lands, and the dearth of established Temples are also well known to us.”

Feeling as though I’d just stepped onto a very dangerous ledge, I said, “While I have the authority, I don’t have the power to compel my fellow Mage-Lords to do things they don’t wish to.”

“This is well known to us Sed Vahl,” he said softly, “we may be insular, but we are aware of Telvanni ways ~ even here in Balmora. That you are a stranger in a strange land and don’t know of our ways is also known to us. That Telvanni mores keep you doubly ignorant grieves us bitterly.”

“So, what would you suggest?” I asked.

“That you join the Temple,” he said simply, “openly and freely.”

“Um, what would that entail?” I asked, visions of being ordered to relinquish my hard-won position in Great House Telvanni floating through my mind.

“Nothing as drastic as giving up your current position Arch-Magister,” the priest said, causing me to shoot him a dark look. “A guess at your thoughts only,” he quickly assured me, reading my look as plainly as a book. “The duties would not be onerous,” he continued, “save that you would be required to undertake some pilgrimages to demonstrate your devotion, and some small tasks to demonstrate your piety. Such things, done without any surety of reward, would make a powerful statement from one in your position.”

And that is how I came to join the local Temple, guided by the subtle hand of that Power which had taken such interest in my dealings of late. Although that fact was not revealed to me until much, much later.

Feldrelo Sadri gave me a book entitled “The Pilgrim’s Path”. “It is the duty of all novices to complete the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces,” he informed me, the capitals dropping almost audibly into place. “By following in the steps of the Lord Vehk, they demonstrate their devotion to the Temple and to the grace of ALMSIVI. When you have completed the pilgrimage, I will assess you and give you further tasks. Or, if you wish, you can visit Temples elsewhere on Vvardenfell and undertake duties for them.”

Bowing low, Feldrelo Sadri went deeper into the recess of the Temple, leaving me with a book and a pilgrimage to undertake. The book contained details of each of the seven shrines a novitiate needed to visit, along with details of what was required at each of the locations. Some, such as the shrine at the Fields of Kummu, had long and detailed descriptions ~ others, such as something called the Puzzle Shrine, had only the vaguest of instructions for getting to them and no detail at all about what was expected. One, called the Shrine of Red Mountain, was wreathed around with dire warnings about what dangers could be expected there.

Feeling that there was no time like the present, and being only a short distance from the first shrine detailed in the book, I caught the silt-strider to Suran: spending the time reading and re-reading the Pilgrim’s Path. One thing I knew for certain, the cowled, woollen robe I’d been given would take some getting used to after so long wearing fine clothing. Fortunately, the robe was big enough to fit over my armour, although Feldrelo Sadri had disapproved of me keeping it on. Which just went to show how little he really knew of Telvanni ways: the armour and the envenomed blade beneath my pillow were the only things between me and an ‘unfortunate, accidental stab in the dark.’ I’d also insisted on keeping the blade and axe with me, preferring to rely on them rather than the stout wooden staff I’d been given along with the robe.

As I crossed the bridge over the Nabia on my way towards the Fields of Kummu, I realised that the stout staff made an excellent walking aid. The road wended its way through the pleasant Ascadian countryside, the air redolent with the smell of late blooming flowers and the crisp tang of winter’s onset. It wasn’t too long before I’d arrived at the small triangular plinth that marked the shrine. Having had the foresight to purchase a small packet of Muck from the alchemist in Suran, I placed the glutinous substance in the bowl provided and read the stanza engraved on the shrine.

Grace of Humility: "Thank you for your humility, Lord Vivec. I shall neither strut nor preen in vanity, but shall know and give thanks for my place in the greater world."

According to the Pilgrim’s Path, the next nearest shrines (three of them) are to be found in Vivec City. Accordingly, I shall make those my next priority. I returned to Balmora and sought shelter in the Temple, figuring that if the Camonna Tong wished to wreak bloody vengeance on me, the fact I was on hallowed ground might give them pause.

[Fuzzy Knight]

Nice story Override

[Aki]

So Sudhendra joins the Tribunal Temple... *dun Dun DUNNNNN*



Mercy, Mystery, Mastery...

[OverrideB1]

Deciding that, since I had three shrines to visit, I didn’t want to waste time taking the silt-strider down to Vivec City I’d make use of the Guild-Guide service at the Mages Guild to get there instead.

“What do you mean,” I roared in frustration at the sneering mage in front of me, ”you won’t send me to Vivec City?”

“We don’t like your kind Telvanni,” she hissed. “And you can’t compel me to transport you anywhere if I don’t want to.”

“Listen to me,” I said. “If you don’t transport me to Vivec City this very instant I’ll make you rue the day your mother whelped you.”

“Huh,” she said, tossing her braided hair insolently. “You stand in the heart of a Guildhouse and think you can threaten me? Think again Telvanni, my fellow Mages would cut you down before you could form the first syllable of a spell.”

Knowing that to be true, I had to find an alternate method of ‘persuading’ her. In the end it cost me two hundred Septims to persuade her to send me to Vivec City, and that was in addition to the cost of actually using the Guild-Guide service. For which I’m sure I was over-charged. Vowing dire retribution on all members of the Mages Guild, I stormed through the chambers and passageways of the Vivec City Guildhouse, pushing people out of my way. If it takes a thousand years, I thought slamming open the main door and stepping into the Foreign Quarter plaza, I will make those bloody Mages grovel.

I wove through the crowds, barely noticing how they parted before me: so black was my mood. Perhaps it was the scowl on my face, or my religious attire, that made them move out of my way. Whichever, I was still fuming and really didn’t care. Hailing a passing gondola, I instructed the gondolier to take me to the Temple. The journey soothed me somewhat, the gentle splashing of the long pole as it entered the water and the gentle rocking of the flat-bottomed boat combining to lift the black cloud that hovered metaphorically over my head. By the time we arrived at the long wooden stairs that led up to the Temple Canton, I was quite my normal self. Not that I had any less desire to rain death and destruction on the stiff-necked Mages ~ but I had a very long time to plan my revenge.

Ornately carved frescos extended around the raised platform in front of me, repeating patterns of the letters “A”, “S”, and “V” raised up from a dark green band. This pattern was repeated on the doorways and bridges at the main part of the Canton, as well as up the sides of the broad stairs that led to the Temple’s main buildings. The vaulting arches of the main building rose above me, carved and crenulated in fantastic patterns. A broad tunnel led from the front of the building through to the back, giving a fantastic vista of the huge building rising up behind the Temple. Ordinators strutted back and forth in their gilded armour, plumes and capes flapping in the stiff breeze that came from the south. Throngs of pilgrims gathered around vendors selling all manner of religious paraphernalia ~ from ‘genuine pieces of Indoril Nerevar’s robes” to “the Sermons of the Lord Vehk, personally blessed by the Arch-Cannon”.

According to the Pilgrim’s Path, I need to donate a single rising force potion at the Shrine of Daring. Cutting through the crowds, I found a Dunmeri female selling a variety of potions ~ she was doing a fairly brisk business in cheap levitation potions for the Shrine. Purchasing one, I waited in line and approached the flower-strewn block of stone. As soon as the pilgrim in front of me had made his libation to the site, read the inscription and moved away, I stepped forwards. Uncorking the cheap earthenware flask, I poured the contents onto the stone plinth, kneeling to read the inscription.

Grace of Daring: "Thank you for your daring, Lord Vivec. I shall not shun risk, nor hide behind the mask of cautious counsel, for fortune favours the bold."

I rose to my feet and walked away from the shrine, stopping when I heard a gasp from the crowd. I suddenly seemed to be the focus of a good deal of attention and it took me a moment to realise why. I was standing there, in the same cowled robe that many of the pilgrims who’d donated to the shrine were wearing, as were many of those waiting to donate to the shrine. None of them, however, was hovering a foot above the inlaid marble floor of the plaza. Glad that the deep hood of the robe hid my embarrassment, I made a determined effort to keep both feet firmly planted on the ground and lost myself in the crowd.

Once I was in the relative seclusion of the tunnel that joined the front of the plaza to the back, I found a scroll of dispel and cast it on myself. Leaping upwards, I found myself hovering a few inches below the arched roof. With gritted teeth, I made my way back down to floor level and planted myself firmly on the ground.

“If you’re waiting for it to wear off Novice,” an amused voice said, “it could take a while.”

It was the potion-seller, taking a break from selling her wares. Danso Indules introduced herself to me and explained. “That’s the blessing of the Shrine of Daring: a personal indication of favour from the Lord Vehk. Only those who are here on the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces receive such a blessing.”

“How long,” I asked desperately, “does the blessing last?”

“It varies according to the Lord’s whim,” she said. “It may last four or five hours, it may last an entire day.”

I groaned into my hood, a whole day having to concentrate so that I didn’t float off into the wide blue yonder. I hoped the Lord Vehk had woken this morning feeling out of sorts, perhaps then this ‘blessing’ would be mercifully short.

We spoke for a while, Danso Indules and I, and she gave me some insight into the workings of the Temple as well as some background information on Ayem, Soth, and Vehk ~ better known as Almalexia, Sotha Sil, and Vivec, the three gods of the Tribunal. She also gave me a warning. “Be wary around the city pilgrim,” she commented. “Two Ordinators and five Outlanders have had their throats cut in the last ten days. I hear that the Office of the Watch is looking into it but, until whoever is responsible is caught, take care if you’re travelling in the more secluded parts of the citadel.”

Thanking her, I made my slow and careful way down the tunnel and so caught my first proper sight of the multi-tiered edifice of The Palace of Vivec. Five great bastions of engraved and worked stone rose up in front of me, each tier smaller than the one below it. The final tier was shaped like a smaller version of the main Temple building, only made of a stone that glowed softly in the sunlight. Around each tier ran a water channel and vast plumes of water thundered down from each tier in an artful design that gave the whole building the appearance of something that had just risen from the depths of the ocean. From the plaza level a short flight of stairs led down to the lower level of the Temple Canton ~ a huge flight of steps rose up the face of the Palace right up to the doors at the top.

Have you ever attempted to climb stairs while trying not to float off into the sky? Let me assure you, it is not the easiest of things to do. By the time I reached the top, I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream in frustration. Finally deciding that neither was wholly appropriate for a holy site, I turned to one of the two identical Shrines and made an offering of two hundred Septims.

Grace of Generosity: "Thank you for your generosity, Lord Vivec. I shall neither hoard nor steal, nor encumber myself with profitless treasures, but shall share freely among house and hearth."

[Wolfie]

Brilliant. Keep it coming

[Aki]

[quote=OverrideB1] Ayem, Soth, and Vehk ~ better known as Almalexia, Sotha Sil, and Vivec, the three gods of the Tribunal. [/quote]
Its Ayem, Seht, and Vehk actually.

Of course, you have just had a typo...

[OverrideB1]

According to the book, the third shrine was known as the Puzzle Shrine and it was located at “the heart of the palace”. Somehow I didn’t think they meant the actual living quarters of the Lord Vehk besides, the heavily sealed doors kind of told you to keep out. So, I thought, if the heart is the centre of things, then surely the heart of the palace was the middle of the palace? Following that reasoning, I walked ~ or, to be more accurate, bounced ~ down the stairs until I came to the third tier. Two above and two below, I thought, rising up over the handrail and splashing down into the fast running water channel. The grating over one of the spouts opened easily and I scrambled through the opening and into the Palace’s infrastructure.

Spluttering and coughing, I rose up through the murky water and made my way up a ramp to the stone ledge that ran around the channel. From far below I could hear the rumbling of some power ~ presumably what pumped the water up from the canals to the top of the structure. After dealing with the rats that had made themselves quite at home here, I explored my surroundings. I didn’t find a shrine, but I did find another grating that opened easily in the tunnel that connected the two waterways.

This deposited me underwater in a storage chamber of some kind. Breaking the surface, I wheezed for breath as I struggled to the steps that rose up to a sort of platform. Feather-enchanted Daedric armour may be tough and light, but it’s a real bugger when it’s filled with water. The platform, a sort of long bridge that sat flush against one wall and ended jutting out over the water held only one thing of any interest ~ a simple stone shrine. Squelching slightly, I walked over to it and examined it. Unlike the other shrines, this stone block was unadorned and bore no religious iconography. Instead there was a simple brass plaque attached to each of the three faces. They simply said: Breathe the Waters of His Glory and the Way will be made Clear.

A horrible, horrible suspicion stole over me as I stood there contemplating those words. They surely couldn’t mean what I thought they did. I frantically examined the featureless stone walls of the chamber, even going as far as checking out the two tiers above and below this one. The third tier was the only place that had access to this chamber ~ the others were completely shrine-free. My fears were, it seemed, fully grounded in fact.

“You have got to be completely mad Sudhendra,” I told myself as I peeled off my sodden clothing and armour and stood there contemplating the sparkling waters. Taking a deep breath I hoped wouldn’t be my last; I descended the steps and allowed the water to close over my head. The body, Man or Mer, is a wonderful thing and it absolutely will not relinquish its grip on life unless forced to do so. I had steeled myself, or so I thought, for the ordeal to come but the first trace of water down my throat had me threshing about and striking out for the surface where I drew in great gulps of life-sustaining air.

Twice, thrice, four times I tried before dragging myself out of the water onto the cold stone and curling up in a little ball. Rocking backwards and forwards, I let my frustrations out. As I did so, I came to realise the purpose of this step of the pilgrimage and understood that I had been approaching it incorrectly. I had viewed this as an ordeal, something to be gripped by the throat and throttled into submission. I now understood that this was not the case. It was, very simply, a test of a pilgrim’s faith. Or, to be more accurate ~ a test of their Faith.

Standing at the water’s edge, the little ripples playing over my toes, I bowed my head and spread my arms. “My Faith, My Life,” I said, repeating a phrase I remembered from childhood. It seemed, somehow, apt. Eyes firmly forward, I exhaled and stepped quickly into the water. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth; drawing in what I was sure would be my last. Fire bloomed in my chest and my heart hammered as water flooded down my throat, filling lungs never meant to receive it. Thunder roared in my ears as a red-tinged blackness crept into the corner of my vision, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Had I the air to do so, I would have screamed, instead I clawed at my throat desperate for one last sip, the slightest hint of life-giving air. Up, up and out ~ that was all I could think of but my limbs were so heavy, so heavy. From somewhere there was a peal of thunder.

Suddenly my lungs were full of air and I rose to the surface, breaking the surface like some startled sea-creature. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or fall on my knees and pray. Walking from the waters, I looked around. I was startled to notice that the bridge seemed to have extended all the way to the other wall and, where there had been featureless stone before, there was now a chamber. Quickly donning my clothing (a tiny part of my mind noting that they were still exactly where I’d left them: disproving any theory I might have had about teleportation) I made my way up the newly revealed stairs and stood facing a Dremora Lord.

My hand dropped immediately to the hilt of my sword but the creature made no move to attack. Instead, it spoke to me, “If you would strike down an unarmed foe, I will not stop you. However, there are weapons in that chest I can defend myself with if you’ll pass me one.”

My eyes alighted on the familiar shape of a stone Shrine at the top of the stairs behind the Dremora Lord. If he wouldn’t attack, I had no need to attack it and I could just walk up to the shrine. The Oblivion-spawn had other ideas. “You may not pass,” it said, moving to block my approach. “Only by killing me may you approach the Shrine.” It then repeated the bit about an unarmed foe. I am Telvanni, and killing to get what you want, or where you want to be, is what we do best: but something about this situation struck me as odd. Here stood a scion of Oblivion, a creature not exactly known for its self-restraint, damn’ near begging me to strike it down in cold blood. Nearby was a chest containing weapons it could use to defend itself. Yet it made no move to obtain a weapon of its own volition, instead asking me to provide it with one.

Turning, I opened the chest and plucked out one of the silver swords that it contained. Throwing it to the Dremora Lord, I drew my own sword and adopted a battle-stance. Effortlessly catching the sword, the creature gave a sardonic bow. “You may now pass and read the inscription,” it said, laying the sword on the ground at its feet and crossing its arms. The name of the Shrine should have clued me in much earlier: the whole thing was a test ~ a puzzle ~ to be solved. A test of faith and a puzzle of a creature that asked for the means to defend itself. Inclining my head, I walked past the creature and read the Shrine’s inscription.

Grace of Courtesy: "Thank you for your courtesy, Lord Vivec. I shall speak neither hurtful nor harsh word, but shall speak respectfully, even of my enemies, for temperate words may turn aside anger."

I turned and strode away from the shrine, seconds later realising that I’d forgotten all about the ‘blessing’ from the Grace of Daring. Hovering a good twenty feet above the floor I realised that there was no way I could continue the pilgrimage until that ‘blessing’ had worn off. Besides, I had much to consider.

[Burnt Sierra]

Brilliant, as always. This story is such a pleasure to read because you've given so much thought to dissecting the ingame events and their potential consequences.
The more Sudhendra experiences, the more reflective and philosophic he's becoming. Excellent. :goodjob:

[OverrideB1]

Feeling much refreshed, I made my preparations for the day. If all goes well, I should be able to complete my pilgrimage today. To that end, I cast Void-Walk and travelled up to Gnisis. Making my way into the Temple, I was escorted upstairs and shown a mask set on a beautifully embroidered velvet cushion. Ah, I thought, another test.

“Where is the real Ash Mask?” I asked the Temple’s Curate. He smiled and led me up a ramp to a tall three-sided column that supported the bronze roof. There were three panels on the column, but only one of them was decorated with religious symbols ~ in this case a design depicting Saint Veloth leading the Chimer to Vvardenfell. Touching the panel made it slide upwards, revealing another mask hidden inside the hollow pillar. Above it was a plaque bearing the Grace of Justice.

Grace of Justice: "Thank you for your justice, Lord Vivec. I shall be neither cruel nor arbitrary, for fair dealing earns the love, trust, and respect of our people."

Pausing only to purchase the greasy block of Dreugh Wax I’d need at the Koal Cave Shrine, I left the Temple and headed towards the river.

“Erm, excuse me,” a quavering voice drifted up from below as I crested the high bank, “but could you, erm, look away?”

I stifled a giggle; there in the river below was an old Dunmer, pulling down his rough shirt to cover his… fundamentals. His skinny legs showed signs that he’d been standing there quite some times. Suppressing my mirth, I called out to him, “What appears to be the problem Muthsera?”

It turned out that Hentus Yansurnummu had been performing his morning ablutions in the river when Hainab Lasamsi had stolen his trousers. “I’d like them back. Very much,” Hentus bleated in quavering voice. One of the Legionnaires directed me towards Hainab Lasamsi, adding that the young man was an inveterate practical joker. It was the work of but a few moments to convince the youth to hand over the ragged trousers and I carried them back to the riverbank and set them down ~ all the while shielding my eyes so that the Ashlander wouldn’t be any more embarrassed.

“Thank you Ser,” he said, sitting beside me on a rock now that he’d… recovered his modesty. “I’m a poor Nomad and have very few belongings, but I’d be honoured if you’d partake of some of my Hackle-Lo Leaf.”

I demurred but it soon became obvious that the older Mer would be offended if I continued to refuse. So, taking the three broad green leaves he handed me, I tucked two into my pack and copied him ~ folding the leaf and putting it in my mouth. Chewing the leaf released a wonderful flavour, something like the wild mint I used to chew when I was a child but with a hint of something spicy and exotic. I also felt greatly invigorated. Hentus explained that chewing the Hackle-Lo was an Ashlander habit, and that it could keep you refreshed and hydrated on a long journey across the ash-wastes. Making a note to myself that I should get a stock of these in at Tel Vahl (both for myself and my guards), I thanked the old Mer and continued on my way.

Crossing the river, I found myself in some hilly, but pleasant, countryside. Various paths would their way around the bases of the green hills, shaded by the large trees that grew in profusion in this region. There were many intriguing plants growing here, and I stopped quite frequently to pick samples. After about three hours of walking, I could hear the crashing of waves on rock and the countryside started to change subtly. The hills were becoming lower and the rocky outcroppings more common.

With a suddenness that was surprising, I found myself at the lip of a high cliff overlooking a wide bay. Huge rocky ‘teeth’ of stone thrust up from under the water, worn into fantastic shapes by the passing years. A rocky path, bordered by a rope barrier, led down towards a beach. There, nestled at the back of the cove, I found the Koal Caves.

The shrine was just inside the cave entrance, and I placed the Dreugh Wax in the small bowl provided and read the Grace of Valour.

Grace of Valour: "Thank you for your valour, Lord Vivec. I shall not quail, nor turn away, but face my enemies and my fear."

There was more to the Koal Caves, a steep tunnel sloped away from the shrine but, since it was completed flooded and I had neither a spell nor potion that would allow me to breath water, I had to leave it. Sitting on a small nub of rock down by the beach, I took my midday meal in those pleasant surroundings before speaking the words that would send me halfway across the island to Ald’ruhn, “Ex hic absum, ut Ald’ruhn”.

I knew the way from Ald’ruhn to the Ghostgate and, wrapping the cloth I’d purchased back in Maar Gan around my face and chewing on one of my remaining Hackle-Lo leaves, I set off up the steep slopes towards the Temple. Apart from the inevitable Cliff Racer attacks ~ there seem to be more of them on the approaches to the Ghostfence than anywhere else on the island for some reason ~ there is little to report. As I approached the Temple, I did notice that a small Ashlander camp seemed to have sprung up on a nearby ridge since my last visit.

Gripping the shaft of the Last Wish tightly, I reached out and touched the softly glowing triangle set into the plinth before the gate. The rattle of heavy chains followed the soft click as the massive barred iron gate lifted slowly into the air. The dozen or so paces it took me to get to the second plinth seemed much longer. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached out and touched the second switch. With a rumble, the gate behind me descended and, as it thumped into place, the gate in front of me started to rise.

Ducking under the gate as soon as it had risen high enough for me to do so, I stepped out into the region known as The Red Mountain. The sky was oddly coloured, a reddish tinge seeming to suffuse the very air itself. The slopes of the mountain were formed of ancient basalt, slippery and dangerous under foot. Walking carefully to ensure I didn’t fall, and trying to look in three hundred and sixty different directions at once, I edged my way up the slope.

There was an oppressiveness to the region, once that seemed to grow with every faltering step up the mountainside that I took. I found my pace quickening, despite the severity of the slope and the dangerous footing. The flattened plateau to my right was a welcome sight and scrambling up the short path that led there, I came to the Ghostgate Shrine. I’d fetched one of my very limited supply of Soul Stones out of my pack even before I reached the weathered stone plinth. As I drew close, the stone in my hand flared and crumbled to dust. Quickly, breathlessly ~ for the sense of malignant observation was increasing ~ I knelt and read the inscription on the Shrine’s plaque.

Grace of Pride: "Thank you for your pride, Lord Vivec. I shall not doubt myself, or my people, or my gods, and shall insist upon them, and my ancient rights.”

I didn’t plan on lingering inside the Ghostfence for a second longer than I had to so I quickly spoke the cantrip that would translocate me to Balmora.
Feldrelo Sadri welcomed me back to the Temple and congratulated me on completing the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces. “It is important that you understand the lessons that the Lord Vehk imparts through the pilgrimage,” Sadri said. “For these are the tenants by which the Temple operates. Take them to heart Layman Vahl, for they are important.

“Now, I don’t know if you wish to pursue your devotion to the Temple,” he said after I’d thanked him for the promotion. “If you do, I suggest you speak to the Proctors at Molag Mar or Ald’ruhn for further duties.”

Thanking him, I made my way to Dura gra-Bol’s house and sat there thinking about what Sadri had said. I could understand, now, why there was friction between House and Temple: the ‘rules’ set down by the Lord Vehk were diametrically opposed to the way we Telvanni do things. Still, I was fairly certain that pursuing promotion within the Temple would be a good thing. Firstly it would bring House and Temple closer together and, given the power of the latter, that could only be good for us. Secondly, the priests of the Temple had a great deal of personal power and influence ~ and power and influence was always interesting to a Telvanni.

Unrolling the apprentice scroll I’d picked up during one of my sojourns into a local tomb, I studied it carefully. The spell, ‘Black Scorn’, was a powerful and unpleasant spell designed to maze and confuse an opponent. After several hours of study, I finally understood how to construct and control the spell. Sighing, I retired to bed for the night.

[OverrideB1]

Another day, another problem with those stiff-necked Mage-Guild nincompoops. I arrived, bright and early at the Mage Guildhouse only to have the same stuck-up, snooty Bretonian woman refuse me service again. This time I decided that she could go hang before I’d pay her a single Septim more than standard Guild-Guide fare. I have yet to decide what fate I shall deliver to the Mages Guild, but it will be complex, and horrible, and talked about for a thousand years.

So, instead of entrusting myself to their tender mercies, I stood in the centre of the Guildhouse and, with great delight, opened up a portal and stepped through into the dusty square of central Ald’ruhn. Delas Mrania had no qualms about dealing with me and sold me two additional Void Walk spells (one for the Ghostgate and one for Molag Mar) at a heavily discounted price. While she was preparing the spells for me, we spoke of several inconsequential things ~ including her supposition that the best Blacksmith in the whole of Vvardenfell can be found ‘Under Skar’: Dandra Selaro is his name. I didn’t argue with her, knowing little of the art other than it involves hitting lumps of hot metal with a big hammer. Still, if ever I need repairs to my armour, it’s worth bearing his name in mind.

Molag Mar is similar in construction to Vivec City, although it is about the size of one of the Cantons and the upper plaza is open to the air. There was a small, but very busy, market going on when I stepped onto the plaza ~ lots of bustling about and shouting. And, I noticed, several stern-faced Ashlanders standing in their own pools of silence: being scrupulously avoided by the jostling crowd.

The Proctor of the Temple in Molag Mar was a tall Dunmer by the name of Tharer Rotheloth. Unlike most members of the Temple I’d met, Rotheloth wore the hood of his cowled robe thrown back, revealing strong features with more than a hint of Ashlander in them. This was accentuated by the way he wore his hair, long in the back with a topknot ~ a style I’d seen on more than a few warriors in the Zainab and Ahemmusa camps. I got the impression that he wasn’t too keen on me, although he said and did nothing to reinforce that impression.

“So, you’re looking for suitable duties Ser, eh?” he asked when I’d introduced myself to him. “Hmmm, Sadri wouldn’t have sent you here unless you had already completed the Seven Graces. Well, since your feet have been set on Vehk’s Path, I think that I have just the duty for you.” He walked over to a small and cleverly designed chest ~ lifting the lid allowed the front to drop down: thus revealing several deep drawers. From the middle drawer he withdrew a small phial of bluish-white earthenware. “There is a Redguard in Tel Mora by the name of Lette,” he said, passing me the bottle. “She’s suffering from Swamp Fever and there is no Imperial Cult nearby that she can get to and no Temple. Take this potion to her and see that she’s all right.”

Travelling to Tel Mora was simplicity itself for me: I simply opened a portal from Molag Mar to Tel Vos and translocated. The small skiff that plies passengers back and forth between Vos and Tel Mora took me the rest of the distance.

“Why do you want to know?” the House guard asked when I quizzed him about Lette’s location. I looked up at his imposing height, allowing the weak sunlight to penetrate the shadows of my cowl. “Erm, sorry Sed Vahl, she’s over there, on the northern shore, do you want me to escort you?” he gabbled at speed.

Leaving him quivering at attention, I crossed the short stretch of water and approached the woman I could see sitting there. “Are you Lette?” I asked.
“Go away,” she said, not looking up. “Can’t you see I’ve got Swamp Fever?” Indeed, the large purplish splotches that marred her dark skin were clearly visible even from where I stood.

“I’m here to help,” I said, putting my hand under her elbow and lifting her to her feet. “If you have no objections, I have a potion here that will cure you.”

“Oh bless you Ser,” she said, “may ALMSIVI’s light shine on you.” Taking the potion, the Redguard drank deeply. In seconds the splotches had started to fade and her colour, which had been very pale, started to improve.

When I was sure that she’d recovered from the disease, I cast a Recall and returned to the Temple in Molag Mar. Rotheloth was pleased that I’d completed the mission so quickly and said, “I think that you should seek the blessings of Lord Vehk. It is common for those based here in Molag Mar to travel to Mount Kand and seek the shrine there.

“I must warn you, however,” he said, raising a hand as I started to turn away, “that many who visit the caverns of Mount Kand do not return.”

With that warning firmly in mind, I left Molag Mar and headed into the Molag Amur. Fortunately, the road to Mount Kand was clearly signposted and, while steep and often beset with Cliff Racers, it presented me with no great problem other than long stretches of boredom interspersed with frantic hacking and slashing at the annoying avian pests. Before long, the road curved northwards and upwards and I found myself in a wide gully that wended up the mountain side. Near the peak was a cavern door, the weathered sign outside proclaiming that this was ‘The Caverns of Kand’.
With no really clear idea of what to expect inside, I took out one of my torches and incanted a short spell that made it burst into flame. Torch in one hand and the Last Wish in the other, I pushed open the door and stepped into these mysterious caverns. It was a lucky thing that I had several torches in my pack, without one I’d have had to fumble my way through the pitch-black tunnels. Even with the torch providing a warm circle of flickering light, the passageway stretched ahead of me darkly.

I hadn’t gone too deep into the caverns when I became aware of a flickering light ahead. As I drew nearer to the source, I felt the temperature climbing slowly. A Fire Atronach stepped into the end of the passageway, effectively blocking it off. Even as I hefted my sword, it spoke:

CODE

A metal neither black nor red

As heavy as man's golden greed

What you do to stay ahead

With friend or arrow or steed.

I lowered my axe, aware that here was another of those little puzzles that it seems the Temple likes to set for pilgrims. Obviously I was intended to answer the riddle and a moment’s thought gave me the answer. “You may pass,” the Fire Atronach said, shimmering slightly in its own heat haze. Giving the creature a wide berth, I entered the next section of tunnel.

The tunnel wended deeper into the mountain side, a cold breeze coming from up ahead. As the shimmering blue light grew brighter and the air grew colder, the tunnel came to an abrupt end, a stone bridge led from the lip of the tunnel down to the floor of the chamber ~ a floor covered in a thick layer of ice. The reason for the ice was simple: a huge Frost Atronach stood in the very centre of the cave. Knowing what to expect, I clambered carefully down and approached it. In a voice like ice grinding on ice, the Atronach spoke:

CODE

If you lie to me I will slay you with my sword. If you tell me the truth, I will slay you with a spell.

This one was a tough one, the answer to the first riddle had been a simple play on words but this one was not. If I told the Atronach the truth, it would use its powers to blast me but, if I lied to it, it would use a sword to fight me. So, if I told it that it would kill me with a spell, I would be… no, wait, that wasn’t right. With a great sigh of relief I heard the Atronach respond, “That response is correct, you may pass,” when I gave it the answer.

I was prepared for the third Atronach, this one a glowering Storm Atronach. As I got close, it raised a massive rocky fist and grated:

CODE

My fellow Atronach, Zedias-soko, was slain. The Altmer claims the Dunmer is guilty. The Dunmer says the Khajiit did it. The Orc swears he didn't kill Zedias-soko. The Khajiit says the Dunmer is lying. If only one of these speaks the truth, who killed Zedias-soko?

Uh-oh. Let me see, the Altmer says the Dunmer did it but if he’s lying then the Dunmer definitely didn’t do it. But, if the Altmer is the one telling the truth, then the Dunmer did do it. The Dunmer says the Khajiit did it so, if he’s lying, the Khajiit didn’t do it: whereas, if he’s telling the truth, the Khajiit did. Erm, so if the Orc is telling a lie, then he did kill the Atronach but if he’s telling the truth, he didn’t. Now, if the Khajiit is lying, then the Dunmer is telling the truth but if the Khajiit is lying, then the Dunmer is also telling the truth. No, wait, that’s not right. Let’s approach this from a different angle.

If the Altmer is telling the truth, then the Dunmer is lying when he says the Khajiit did it; the Orc is lying when he swears he didn’t do it, and the Khajiit is lying when he says the Dunmer is lying. Now, if the Dunmer is the one telling the truth, the Altmer is lying when he says the Dunmer is guilty, the Orc is again lying when he swears he didn’t do it, and the Khajiit is lying when he says the Dunmer is lying. Ahh got it….

“You may pass and read the inscription on the shrine,” the Storm Atronach rumbled, turning away. With a huge sigh of relief, I followed the last few feet of tunnel to the now familiar stone plinth. This one bore no inscription but when I touched it I felt a massive jolt of power surge through me.

I returned to Molag Mar and persuaded Tharer Rotheloth to let me use one of the bunk beds for the night.

[Burnt Sierra]

Great update again. Nice descriptions on actually solving the riddles ( rather than doing what i did and just using the yellow book of riddles to give me the answers ). However i did notice one minor discrepancy,

Even as I hefted my sword, it spoke:

A metal neither black nor red
As heavy as man's golden greed
What you do to stay ahead
With friend or arrow or steed.

I lowered my axe,[i][/i]

These Telvanni's with their magically changing weapons

[Alexander]

[quote=burntsierra]Great update again. Nice descriptions on actually solving

These Telvanni's with their magically changing weapons [/quote]


there, yet another advantage to joining the Great House Telvanni over joining the other two houses


great addition as always OverrideB1

[Wolfie]

I love this story.............well, maybe love is a bit strong of a word......but you know what i mean....i hope. It's cool

[jonajosa]

Still pushin for Telvanni huh alexander.

Great next part. Gone into great detail with the shrine visits.

Good job

[minque]

[quote=Alexander][quote=burntsierra]Great update again. Nice descriptions on actually solving

These Telvanni's with their magically changing weapons [/quote]


there, yet another advantage to joining the Great House Telvanni over joining the other two houses


great addition as always OverrideB1 [/quote]

Another advantage? You mean there are more?

[Alexander]

[quote=jonajosa]Still pushin for Telvanni huh alexander.

[/quote]


Always


@Minque:

there are thousands of advantages, well I guess never having been Telvanni never gave you acces to all of our secrets :evil4:

[Fuzzy Knight]

This is great... still nice Override

[OverrideB1]

Tharer seemed rather nonplussed this morning as he handed over a simple note from Llunela Hleran. I could understand why, it was always ~ and still is ~ a mystery to me how that woman could always get a message to you whenever she needed to. The note was brief and to the point: Construction of the final phase of your tower is now complete. Raissu Asserbas will take care of any future additions you wish to make. Fare thee well Arch-Magister, long life and power to you.

Even though I was supposed to be learning humility and piety, I couldn’t stop a feeling of great pride swelling up. Truly, Vvardenfell is a land of opportunity: from stepping ashore as a recently released convict with her only possessions the clothes she stood up in, I had raised myself up to become the head of a Great House. And, I felt certain; I would go on to achieve great things as Head of House.

Tharer and I spoke of my experiences beneath Mount Kand and, even though it might only be wishful thinking on my part, I fancied I felt a softening of his attitude towards me. I was to find out that, even if true, it wouldn’t stop him from giving me the really pleasant jobs. “Somewhat south-east of here, along the coast,” he said, “is the ancient Velothi ruin of Mawia. Word has reached us from… interested parties that a necromancer by the name of Delvam Andarys has taken residence there. It is our earnest wish that you demonstrate your commitment to the ideals of the Temple by remonstrating with him and teaching him the error of his ways.”

Which, I thought to myself as I packed the items I thought I’d need, pretty much tantamount to saying, “Go… kill.”

My journey down the banks of the river was interesting but relatively uneventful. The only thing that broke the journey was my discovery of the Card’ruhn Hlaalu. Oddly, for a tomb that bore the name of one of the most acquisitive Houses in the Province, it contained virtually nothing of any value. Shrugging, I left the crypt and continued on my way.

The coast is every bit as rugged as you’d expect for the Molag Amur: steep cliffs of crumbling black rock, small beaches, and vast spires of unweathered rock sticking up out of the crashing waves. Mawia, I’d been told, was on a small islet off the coast ~ unfortunately, that description covered a multitude of tiny slivers of sand and rock and I had to spend quite some time hopping from islet to islet before I found the right one. The large domed Velothi structure was a clue that I’d found the right place, but the two reanimated skeletal archers that guarded the entrance were an even bigger clue. A couple of well-aimed fireballs soon took care of them.

As I crouched beside the smouldering and blackened bones of the Reanimated, I took a careful interest in their bows. Made of plates of Chitin, bound together with some sort of hard resin, they were incredibly light but a little experimentation soon revealed their basic flaw: they had a very short range. Of much more interest was the pile of arrows each of the skeletal warriors carried. The thick leather quivers had prevented my fireballs from doing too much damage to them, a few singed flight feathers was the extent of the damage. Discarding those, I gathered the steel-tipped arrows together and added them to my rapidly dwindling supply of iron-tipped arrows. Then it was time to investigate the door to the Velothi structure.

Finding the door both unlocked and unwarded, I pushed it open and ventured into the square foyer. I was quickly to find that Mawia wasn’t constructed in the same fashion as the other Velothi buildings I’d been in: Mawia was a simpler structure with a single corridor leading down into the rock of the island and leading to the access chamber for the domed tower. Not that progress along the corridor was easy; the necromancer had obviously been busy resurrecting anything he could get his hands on. Ancestral spirits, Bone-Walkers, Bone Lords, Skeletons of every type: every corner was fraught with danger and unwelcome surprises. There is one good thing to be said about resurrected skeletons: they’re not the strongest of creatures structurally. A good, hard blow with an axe is usually enough to smash vital parts and a couple of good blows can totally shatter a skeleton. Fire-based magic seemed to work remarkably well too.

Delvam Andarys proved to be an elderly Mer with a long white beard. He was a powerful mage but I took advantage of the building’s structure to fight against him. Using the heavy stones of the balustrade around the top of the stairs as a hiding place from the powerful spells that poured forth from the Dunmer necromancer, I took advantage of the large supply of arrows I now had and peppered him with them from a distance. Of course, not being much of a marksman, most of my shots went wide of the mark. However, enough of my shafts found their target that he was forced to concentrate on healing magic rather than offensive spells ~ that was my cue to rush in with the Last Wish and shave his beard. Stepping smartly to the side to avoid the gush of blood that came from his severed jugular, I left him in a widening pool of his own blood while I searched the chamber.

I found some very interesting things in that tower, a cuirass that sang with magic and that I recognised as ‘The Chiding Cuirass’. There was another cuirass in the tower that would provide the wearing with some measure of protection against fire-based spells. In addition, the necromancer himself carried a very powerful artefact called ‘Shimshil’ ~ a dagger that conferred a spell of hiding when the runic power of the blade was invoked. His purse contained over seven hundred Septims and his bookcase two volumes of great interest. There, nestled amidst the usual necromantic volumes, were two red-bound folios entitled ‘Vampires of Vvardenfell Volume One’ and ‘Vampires of Vvardenfell Volume Two’. These seemed to be a semi-scholarly work on the influx of vampires from the mainland ~ especially from the Illiac Bay area. Figuring that these would be of some value, I carefully packed them into my backpack and took them with me when I recalled to the Temple in Molag Mar.

“You have done remarkably well,” Tharer said when I reported my success at Mawia. “And the Temple thanks you for bringing its justice to the necromancer Andarys. I would like to give you more duties, but I have nothing suitable for one of your rank.”

“Well, you could always promote me,” I said hopefully. To my intense surprise Tharer Rotheloth did exactly that: promoting me to the rank of Initiate in recognition of my work for the Temple. Not that that made the blindest bit of difference, Tharer still had no duties for me. He did, however, recommend that I visit the Temple in Ald’ruhn or the High Fane in Vivec City. Resolving to travel to Ald’ruhn on the morrow, I returned to my stronghold at Uvirith’s Grave.

The change was startling. The walls and floor of the mercenaries’ barracks had been put in place and a start had been made on what could only be a watchtower on the northern slopes approaching the Tel. The Tel itself had almost doubled in height and there were metal spheres dotted about the landscape. Even as I watched, one of them unfolded itself and raised its blunt head. I was struck by how ‘alive’ these things looked as the animalcule scanned the area immediately around it before becoming quiescent again. And, on the steep path that led up to the bridge to my tower stronghold, stood the massively bulky form of a Type III, its mace sparking with power. I grinned, recognising that Baladas had been unable to resist adding his own personal stamp to the devices.

The ground level of the tower hadn’t changed much but I soon discovered that there were now storage and display rooms buried beneath the tower where, before, there had only been a rocky corridor. The upper level (now the middle of the tower) was also unchanged apart from an engraved brass portal that had appeared in the corridor leading to the bedchamber. The changes beyond that portal were surprising.

A large dining room and associated kitchen filled the chamber immediately behind the door, while a short corridor led to a chamber lined with bookshelves. From this ‘library’, a curved flight of stairs led up to an upper level. Here there was a fully furnished alchemical lab, the gleaming jars and benches ready for me to start experimenting. A long vertical tunnel led to the next level.

Up here was another small chamber with workbenches and storage chests while, directly opposite was a large chamber-door. Behind this was a master bedroom, with a huge canopied bed and even more storage space in the form of chests-of-drawers and wardrobes. Another engraved bronze door led out onto an observation deck. There, at least a hundred feet above the ashy wastes of the Molag Amur, I stood and looked at the awesome vista of the region that I could see in the gathering gloom.

[Wolfie]

cool. Why does her tower appear to be so different to mine when i get the third stage finished?

[Alexander]

another great addition, and to lonewolf, I think the word there is artistic freedom